


In All Things

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Cane of Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Mad Beauty friendship, Misunderstandings, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Assault, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Young Baelfire | Neal Cassidy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 59,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: When Lord Maurice is unable to pay the King's taxes, his debts begin to pile up, and the only recourse is to accept an arranged marriage for his daughter, the Lady Belle. After a failed betrothal to Sir Gaston, broken by the reveal of a personal secret of Belle's, the enigmatic and powerful Lord Gold swoops in to solve all their problems. He will marry Lady Belle and pay off Maurice's debts. The only catch is that Gold doesn't seem to want a wife at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YES I KNOW I NEED ANOTHER WIP LIKE I NEED SEVENTEEN MORE HOLES IN MY HEAD I'M FUCKING HORRIBLE.  
So this is an idea I had literally years ago. This is a weird quasi-period romance fantasy. Like imagine Jane Austen but in the Enchanted Forest. IDK. I'm tagging some things I know are coming, and just going right ahead and putting the rating where it's going to be so that everyone is informed up front. I'm sorry I'm like this.  
For the Writer's Month prompt #26: wedding.

Belle winced and pulled the comb through the ends of her hair. 

She worked out the last few tangles before twisting it into a thick braid that ran from the base of her skull to the small of her back. Tomorrow it would fall in fat, loose curls, perfect for being woven with some of the delicate white flowers that grew along the south side of the house. Angel's Lace they were called, supposedly good luck for a bride to wear on her wedding day. Her dress hung on a form by her armoire, creamy white silk and light blue ribbons, ready for her to don in the morning.

She sighed and pushed away from the vanity, casting a longing look at her bed. This would be her last night in it, and her last night in her father's home, the only one she'd ever known, forever. She wandered to the window and leaned out into the cool evening air. The sky was a swirl of purple and pink as the sun sank behind the treeline. The next time she saw the sunset, it would have a different view, and she would belong to someone else.

The thought made her stomach turn and she moved to the small table across the room to pour some water. After two gulps of cool water and a few deep breaths, she felt only marginally better. The last thing she wanted was to be married, but the state of her father's affairs necessitated such extremes.

Belle had often dreamed of what her future might be like, her wedding and her husband. She pictured something like in her books or in the stories told by her old governess. Reality was nothing like that. In her fantasies she had a choice, she wasn't bid out like cattle to pay debts that weren't her family's fault.

King George taxed his lord's highly. Years of war had worn the people down, and as her father's lands began to fail, the fields sallow from overuse, there just wasn't enough to cover the King's demands. Only a marriage to a wealthy lord could save them. Her father's debts would become her debts, and her debts her new husband's.

Lord Gold, she was told, could easily afford them. He was also a favorite of the King, sitting on the Council of Lord's and helping to organize and run the kingdom. She hoped this would go better than the first time.

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of her first betrothal. Sir Gaston was noble, but demanding, conventionally handsome, but ugly on the inside. He'd found out her secret and immediately broke off the engagement. It was just as well, a marriage to such a man would have been more of a punishment than losing everything her family owned.

Strangely, upon hearing of the disillusion of her betrothal, Lord Gold had sent a letter to her father, asking for her hand. They had never met, but of course her father agreed. He was only worried for himself and their family name, and the possibility of losing their standing. The fate of his daughter was secondary.

Belle startled at the knock on her door, and hurried to cover her nightgown with her robe.

"Enter," she called out, still tying the belt around her waist.

The maid, Astrid, poked her head around the door and smiled. “Sorry to disturb, my Lady.”

Belle shook her head and waved the woman in. “It’s no matter, Astrid.”

“I - I brought you a letter,” she said, holding out a silver tray containing a folded parchment, sealed with red wax. “It’s - it’s from Lord Gold, my Lady.”

Belle’s eyes went wide and pulled back the hand that had been reaching for the letter. “Oh…”

Astrid raised her eyebrows. “Should I put it on the desk, my Lady?”

Belle nodded, and watched with trepidation as Astrid crossed to the small writing desk by the window and set the tray down. A moment later, Astrid was giving her a curtsy from the doorway and bidding her a goodnight.

She stared at the tray and the paper for a long moment before tracing the wax seal pressed to the front. The symbol in the middle was odd, a spinning wheel surrounded on the outside by the usual laurel wreath of the merchant lords. She wondered what the significance of it was.

Sitting down at the desk, she took a steadying breath and broke the seal, brushing the bits of wax aside as she opened the folded paper. It wasn’t uncommon for those with longer betrothals to write each other letters, but she hardly expected a man she’d never met, and who was at least ten years her senior, to be sending her affectionate missives the day before their very arranged wedding.

_Lady Belle,_

_I will dispatch with the usual, odious pleasantries of hoping this letter finds you well, and asking after your father’s health, though I do hope you are not too distressed over the upcoming ceremony. I know that this arrangement is not what you might have desired -_

She let out a light snort at his understatement, and continued.

_\- but I wish to alleviate some of your fears, that we may enter into our partnership without misunderstandings. _

Partnership. The word made her frown. She had never known anyone to refer to a marriage as such. Arrangement, agreement, joining. Those were common among those who had their futures decided on the basis of beneficial political or social alignments, but partnership seemed like something more, like they were forming a business or some such. She thought perhaps he was more used to that word given his background as a merchant.

_Beyond the covenant we will enter into in the eyes of church and family, I will make a promise to you that I shall never ask for more than you are willing to give, in all things._

Belle sat back in her chair, her lips parting as she read the line again. She hoped that it meant what she wanted it to, but she was very aware that men, especially Lords and knights, where capable of eschewing all honor to get what they wanted.

_Allow me to be clear, in a manner which I pray you do not find offensive. I will make no demands upon you for your time, your companionship, or your presence in my bed. I have no need for more friends, though I hope, in time, we may come to appreciate each other’s company, and you may approve of spending time together. I also require no heirs, as I already have been blessed with a son from my marriage to my late wife. (Incidentally, his name is Baeden - Bae - and he will be eleven just before the solstice.)_

She gasped out loud, and her heart began to pound in her chest. She read the paragraph again, as she had the sentence before it, in utter disbelief. Lord Gold was marrying her, and apparently had no intention of requiring her to do any of the things that everyone expected wives to do. And he’d been married before. That was not something her father had mentioned, nor that Gold had a son. The way he added the sliver of knowledge, both about the boy’s name and his birthday, felt oddly intimate, like he was allowing her a peek into his life ahead of her joining it.

Giving her head a shake, she continued reading to the end.

_I’m sure you are curious as to my reasons for agreeing to this arrangement, and in time I may be willing to explain, but please trust that they are my own, and that I do not bear you, your father, or your family any ill will. I will make one small request of you, if I may, and that is simply to be yourself. I find there are enough airs put on at court, and I do not wish there to be any illusions or deceptions in my home._

_Yours,_

_Cameron Gold_

She let out the breath she’d been holding and her hands dropped to her lap. The letter was nothing she’d expected, but then, apparently, neither was Lord Gold.

_Cameron._

Knowing her future husband’s first name made her smile. She hadn’t known anything about him before today, other than that he was older, and rich enough to afford her father’s debts. Now she felt like they had spent an afternoon together, talking over tea. It was strange, yet comforting.

Though he might change his mind in the future, for now it seemed her terrible secret would remain as such. It was possible than if it were revealed to him that they might have come to understand each other enough that he wouldn’t be as angry as Gaston had been. 

A shudder washed over her and she reached for her shawl, pulling it tight around her shoulders. Then she folded the letter and placed it inside her favorite book, right in the middle to keep it pressed flat by the heavy sides. She poured herself another cup of water and carried it to her bedside table before laying her robe and shawl over the end of the bed. She took her time smoothing her hands over the soft knitting, remembering how her mother used to sit by the fire in the evenings with a basket of yarn and an idle plan of what she might create.

Her chest tightened and she pushed the memory away as she climbed onto the mattress, kicking off her slippers before wiggling beneath the covers. She looked over at her wedding gown, relieved that her earlier terror had calmed to more of a light apprehension. Perhaps, she thought, an arranged marriage to a man who didn’t seem to want a wife at all, was the best she could have hoped for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's wedding and new husband are both nothing like she expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. The response to that first chapter was absolutely overwhelming. You are all amazing and your comments fuel me so much. Don't expect too many updates on this before I finish some other things like Killing Time, but my plan is to wrap other projects up and poke at this fic as I have time. I am thinking of doing the 31 Days in December again, but focusing solely on this fic. IDK, we'll see. For the Writer's Month prompt #27: celebration.

Belle awoke early, just as the first light was spilling in between the curtains.

She stretched and sat up, surprised that she had slept so soundly the night before what she thought would be the worst day of her life. Lord Gold’s letter had given her hope, and now she was she was determined to go into the ceremony with a more positive outlook. It might all be for naught in the end, but for now, she didn’t want to think about anything except getting off on the right foot with her new husband.

_Husband._

The world still felt strange even in her head. Now more than ever she wished her mother was alive. A girl needed her mother in these moments, but instead she would have Astrid and her dear friend Ariel. Perhaps Gold would allow her to bring Astrid along. Such things were not unheard of, and he seemed to want her to be happy, if the tone of his words could be assumed.

Sighing, she climbed out of bed to use the chamber pot and wash her face before Astrid knocked on her door with breakfast.

“Did you sleep well, my Lady?” Astrid asked, closing the door with her hip as she precariously balanced a silver tray with the other.

Belle nodded. “I did, actually, thank you.”

Astrid smiled and set the tray down on the table. There was bread and jams, oats with honey, and a small bowl of fruit. It was far more than Belle thought she’d be able to eat, but at least there was a variety for her to pick at. Her eyes drifted to the book sitting on her trunk, the one she’d tucked Gold’s letter in, and she licked some jam from her lips. She was beginning to feel nervous, and wondered if perhaps rereading it would settle her stomach.

After Astrid left to fetch two more maids to assist with getting her into her wedding gown, Belle hurried over to the book and snatched it up. She pressed it to her chest and went to sit in a chair by the window, letting the morning sun warm her face. Once again, his words felt reassuring and honest, and she was glad that nothing had changed overnight in that regard. 

Maybe he was fond of letter writing and she could expect more. Soon, she’d know the sound of his voice to go with it, and she hoped that it would be pleasant to imagine in her mind.

* * *

A few hours later, the sinking feeling in Belle’s stomach was back.

She stared down the stone path and exhaled slowly. There hadn’t been time to schedule much for the ceremony itself, but most of the garden was still in bloom and the weather was favorable enough to be outside. The hedges at the front shielded her from view, but allowed her a glimpse of Lord Gold as he stood at the end of the path, just on the edge of the pavilion.

She couldn’t tell much from here, but he was shorter than both the priest and her father. Sir Gaston had been a full head taller than her father, and when he stood next to her she felt like a child. It didn’t seem that it would be as much of a disparity with Gold, and she was grateful even for that small favor.

“Ready?”

Belle turned to see Ariel, and shook her head. “No, but I don’t have much say in the matter do I?”

Ariel gave her a sympathetic look and squeezed her shoulder. “Please don’t be this way, Belle. It - it could be a good match.”

Belle raised her eyebrows at her friend, but said nothing. Gold’s letter might have eased her mind, but her heart was still breaking for the fact that she would never find the kind of love she’d always longed for. Ariel wouldn’t understand that; she and Eric had chosen each other. They were both the youngest children in two families adjacent to the royal house. They had all the privilege and freedom they desired, and had never shouldered the burden of expectation, knowing that the ruin of your family and all those who depended on your lands was laid at your feet.

Belle blew out a breath and squared her shoulders before she stepped into the archway between the hedges. There was some quiet murmuring among the few that were assembled, and then she stepped forward. Gold’s head pivoted towards her, and she held her breath as Ariel assumed her duties as maid of the bride and scattered a handful of rose petals in front of her. The attendees rose to their feet just as her shoe touched the first stone, and her view of Gold was blocked. She found she was actually sad for that, having wanted to see his reaction to seeing her for the first time.

She came to the end of the path, her eyes fixed on the step of the pavilion. There was a tiny gasp next to her and her gaze flicked to the side to see the cuffs of Lord Gold’s coat and his hands crossed in front of him. After a long moment, she drew her head up and turned to take her place, finally letting her eyes meet those of her very soon to be husband.

Lord Gold’s eyes were wide and dark, a deep brown in the center and lighter at the edges like the swirls in a mug of cocoa in the winter. His hair was also brown, but flecked with silver, and long enough to fall over the edges of his high collared coat. It looked soft and just a little disheveled, in an endearing way, like that of a young boy after a day outside. Her eyes darted down, briefly, taking in the blue and gold swirls across his waistcoat, before moving back to his face.

The priest was saying something to the small audience, but Belle hadn’t caught more than two words. Gold’s face was soft and open, with little lines at the edges of his eyes that she could picture creasing when he smiled. His gaze settled on her, his lips parted slightly, and she felt a rather warm and pleasant feeling wash over her. The corner of his mouth twitched and then curved, and she pressed her lips together.

He reached for her hand, and she gave it freely as they both turned to face the priest. His palm and fingertips were just a little rough, giving her the feeling that he had worked with them more than most nobles, but comfortably warm and soft as well. Standing next to him, she was happy to confirm that he wasn’t much taller than she was, even in his boots. She didn’t feel insignificant next to him, not physically anyway. What she had seen of his attire spoke of wealth and station, and her simple, cream colored dress seemed mismatched in comparison.

His hand moved, and she blinked, not knowing where in the proceedings they were. He turned, and a second later she did as well, handing her bouquet to Ariel to hold so she could give him her other hand. Her mind was spinning, and she let her eyes fix themselves to the jeweled pin in the middle of his ascot. 

The priest spoke again, and Gold squeezed her hands gently. She met his eyes, and he raised his eyebrows. For a second she was confused and then it dawned on her that everyone was waiting for her to speak.

“Sorry,” she whispered, thankful that she had already attended so many weddings that she knew most of the phrases by heart.

The words felt hollower than she would have liked, rote and cold as she spoke words of devotion and love and duty. Gold did the same, and she couldn’t help the small smile she gave him at the sound of his Frontlands brogue. It was a pleasing voice after all, so different from her own and the accents she was used to. The next time she would reread his letter she knew it would be fresh in her mind.

The vows finished, they exchanged rings, and the feeling of the slim gold band sliding onto her finger, his hand holding hers gently, was far less suffocating than she’d thought it would be. She stared at it for a long moment, the simplicity of it better than the gaudy gem encrusted ring that had been selected by Sir Gaston. Her nerves settled further, and she looked up to meet Gold’s eyes again.

His face looked almost pained now, and his lips pressed together as he gave her a brief nod. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but then the priest was declaring them man and wife, Lord and Lady, and giving them the blessing of the King. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

_Oh._

Belle’s throat went tight. That explained the strange look on Gold’s face, and suddenly she was terrified of what would happen next, of being claimed in such a physical way in front of everyone, leaving them with only one possible impression of what would happen after the celebration to follow. As if he could read her mind, Gold lifted her left hand, drawing it to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her new wedding band with such a delicateness that it stole her breath away.

A shiver went down her spine as he let her hand go, and before she could get her bearings, they were turning to face the assembled. She caught her father’s eyes, and gave him the best smile she could muster, but his face remained sad and impassive. It was as if he’d abruptly realized what had to be traded in order for their family to survive. Gold squeezed her hand and then raised her arm, laying it over his as they stepped forward together, joined forever in the eyes of the new church, the old gods, and the King.

* * *

“Are you all right?”

Belle startled and turned to see Lord Gold - her husband - standing the archway of the garden entrance. It was exactly where she had stood at the start of their wedding just a few hours ago. 

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a small smile.

After the ceremony there had been little time to say anything to each other before there were additional formalities to tended to. Gold had signed the contracts assuming her father’s debts to the King and assuring payment, and then they had been ushered off to as lavish a dinner as her father could manage. It was only five courses, but still respectable, and welcome after her meager breakfast. She’d only managed one piece of toast and some tea then, but her belly was full of roast beef, butter potatoes, and a bit too much chocolate cake. It strained the laces of her dress, and she couldn't wait to get back to her room and change into something more comfortable.

“You’ll forgive me,” he said, moving closer, “if I don’t believe that.”

She frowned and straightened. “Yes, well, my apologies for -” He shook his head, smiling, and she stopped. “What?”

“If you had read my letter, I would have hoped you’d understand that there was no need to apologize. I am well aware of the sacrifice you are making.” 

He stopped in front of her, his hands folded over a gold handled cane. She hadn’t seen it during the ceremony, but as soon as he got out of the garden, he’d been handed it by one of the staff. His limp wasn’t very noticeable at the time, but now she could see how heavily he was leaning on the cane, and she wondered about the origins of his injury.

“Are you?” she said, immediately catching herself and pressing her lips together. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

Gold laughed lightly, and she had to hold back a smile. It was an unexpectedly lovely sound, and she noted that she’d been correct about the lines by his eyes. The were crinkled quite flatteringly.

“There is one thing I would make absolutely clear, if I may?” he asked. 

She swallowed and nodded, ready for things to change, for something of his true colors to show, for it to have all been a facade. Her hands pressed against her skirt and then curled as he came closer. There was even less space between them now than when they said their vows, and her heart started to pound.

He bent his head and reached for her left hand, taking it in his as he had done earlier. “I would have you always speak your mind.” She looked up, surprised, and he mouth curved. “Especially to me.”

Belle nodded, unsure of what to say.

“Everything I said in my letter was the truth,” he continued. “I will make no demands of you, save one.”

_Here it comes,_ she thought, and her hand tensed in his. He must have noticed because he frowned and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the smooth ring that would adorn her hand for the rest of her life. It was oddly soothing and she relaxed slightly.

His jaw worked, his lips flattening before he swallowed, throat bobbing against the silk at his neck. “I would only ask that when the time comes, you will do what is honorable and just for my son.”

She opened and closed her mouth, her brow ceasing in confusion. His words didn’t make sense to her, and she had so many questions about what time and what he meant by what was honorable and just, but his expression seemed so desperate that all she could do was agree.

“Of - of course,” she said, her voice cracking. The affirmative seemed insufficient for the way in which he was all but begging her to concede, so she added, “I will always do what I feel is honorable and just, by your child, or anyone’s.”

That seemed to placate him enough, and he nodded, letting out a soft, slow breath. “Thank you.” She nodded and he let go of her hand. “Would you be opposed to departing this evening?”

Belle bit her lip. “So soon?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It is several hours to my estate, and I don’t like to leave my son for too long when he has no one else. I would have brought him, but...well, I was just as unsure of what to expect as I imagine you were.”

She smiled at that, and let her head drop for a moment before she looked up at him again. “I don’t know what I imagined, to be honest.” Then she sighed. “But, yes, I understand. We should leave soon.”

Gold turned to go, but she called out to him, her curiosity getting the better of her. “You didn’t kiss me, during the ceremony. Why?”

He turned, pivoting on his cane and letting the tails of his coat flutter out behind him. “I believe I did.”

His expression was teasing, and she could see the slight twitch of his lips, and laughed. “You jest, my Lord, but you know what I meant.”

“Cameron,” he said. “We are married; you should call me by my name.”

Belle swallowed hard. It was something she thought they might grow into, but it also felt right to do so now. “Cameron,” she repeated. Then she tilted her head, giving him a coy look. “You are avoiding the question.”

Gold licked at his bottom lip, his tongue resting there for a brief moment before he spoke. “I made a promise,” he explained, his expression was soft and his free hand flexed at his side as though he wanted to take hers again. “No more than you are willing to give. In all things.”

With that he turned and left, his cane and his boots thumping lightly against the stone walkway that lead back to the house. Belle pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart thump hard against her palm, and shook her head. Her world felt like it had been turned on end, yet she was less afraid today than she had been yesterday.

Perhaps marriage would not be as terrible as she had imagined.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after the wedding, Gold and Belle depart and spend a slightly awkward carriage ride together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got so damn long. Oops. Have some idiots trying to figure out how to person around each other.

As soon as Lord Gold announced their departure, Avonlea became a flurry of activity.

Astrid fretted about everything. She flitted between chests and dressers in Belle’s chambers, directing two other maids until as many of Belle’s dresses, underclothes, and shoes were packed as possible. The steward, Edmund, was in a tizzy as his usual authority was usurped by the presence of Gold. A fine carriage pulled by four horses waited at the front steps of the manor, with a small wagon behind it for the bulk of Belle’s belongings.

“Do you want me to pack the red dress?” Astrid asked, holding up the garment in question with the bulky skirt draped over her arm.

Belle made a face at the garish dress with its layers of frills and ribbons, and shook her head. “Heaven’s no!”

Astrid giggled lightly at her own joke as Belle rolled her eyes, and pulled another out of the large armoire. “How about the green?”

Belle tilted her head as she studied the dress. Like the red gown, she’d only worn it once, but that wasn’t because she disliked it. It was a different style from her usual outfits, more slim and sleek, clinging gently to her curves in a way she wasn’t accustomed to. It was a lush velvet lined with silk, and the gold thread embroidery at the neck and cuffs gave it a simple but rich look. 

Finally, she sighed. “Yes, fine, I’ll bring it as well.” 

Her head wasn’t in the right place to be picky about her outfits. She turned to open the trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled out a worn leather satchel. Just as she was slipping her book inside, pausing to check that Gold’s letter was still tucked inside, she turned back to Astrid. 

“Oh, and the new blue one!”

Astrid stopped and looked at her wide eyed. “You’re sure?”

Belle gave her a small smile and nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m not going to let one bad incident with Sir Gaston ruin a perfectly lovely dress I had made special.”

Astrid’s mouth curve as she dipped in a quick curtsy. “Of course, my Lady.”

After a few more minutes of commotion in her rooms, Belle hurried off to the library, and tried to calm her nerves by focusing on the selection of books that would get her through the first weeks in her new home. She tucked each one into her leather satchel, laying them flat on the bottom, one on top of the other, seven high, and then an eighth along the side. The flap of the bag strained as she folded it over and latched the buckle.

“You could bring them all, you know.”

Belle startled and nearly dropped the bag on her foot as her head snapped up. Gold was standing in the door of the library with a bemused smile, and she felt her face flush.

“Oh, Lord Gold -” She stopped and chided herself silently. “Cameron. I was just -”

“I mean it,” he said, pushing off the door frame and ambling slowly towards her. His cane thumped softly against the wood floor, and her hands tightened around the strap of the bag.

“You can bring them all,” he repeated, casting his eyes around the room. “My library has plenty of space.”

“Oh, I really couldn’t.” She gave him a sheepish shrug, secretly pleased that he seemed to have a large library as well. “They’re not all mine.”

Gold let out a soft chuckle and looked down at her bag. “We could send for the ones that are later, if you like.”

She nodded and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“It’s no matter,” he said quietly. “I assume you like to read then?”

Her eyes drifted to the shelf as she spoke. “Yes, I - I do. Very much.”

“Good,” Gold muttered. “That’s...good.”

Belle wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but the fact that he was so willing to allow her space in his library and to pay for all her books to be moved was enough for now. Gaston abhorred not only reading anything that wasn't a battle plan, he also seemed to have a distaste for well-read women. Gold was, at the very least, not in that category.

“Your, um, maid -” he started to say.

“Astrid,” she supplied.

“Astrid,” he said, his eyebrows lifting, “is a bit..._anxious._”

Belle bit her lip, smiling. “Yes, she’s - she’s a dear friend, but excitable at the best of times.”

“Indeed.” His fingers flexed around the hand of his cane, a motion she’d noticed while they were in her father’s office, and later in the garden. “Did you, um, want her to come with you?”

Belle’s eyes brightened. “You don’t mind?”

He made a face, the corner of his mouth curving. “Of course not. I have plenty of staff available to you, but if you like, we can send for her and your books as soon as we’re home and settled.”

_Home._

She swallowed. This was home, her father’s manor, and the lands owned by her mother’s family. Right now she couldn’t imagine calling anywhere else her home, but that would be changing all too soon. At least having Astrid and her books would help her feel more at ease.

“Thank you,” she managed, and Gold gave a short nod before he turned and left.

* * *

The carriage rocked as they cross over a rough patch of road, rutted by rain and the heavy war wagons that passed by a few days ago. Belle pitched forward with a squeal as the wheels bounced, catching herself on the handle of the door. Gold reached for her, taking her by the arm and guiding her until she was seated next to him, her back to the driver and horses.

“There,” he said, once she was stable. “Better?”

She nodded and pressed a hand to her belly, feeling the laces of the corset under her gloved hand. Her left leg was pressed solidly against Gold’s and he was still holding her hand in his. She glanced up at his face, catching a hint of concern in his eyes. Facing the opposite way made the ride much more stable, if a bit bumpier, but instead of it nearly throwing her to the floor when the carriage lurched, it tipped her backwards, against the seat cushion.

‘Yes,” she managed, a bit breathless. “Much better.”

She looked out the window, catching a fading glimpse of Avonlea as they started down the hill to the main road. Her lips trembled and she pressed her lips together as the front gate and the large trees to either side disappeared from view, dipping down behind the tall grasses swaying gently in the wind. As they came around the bend at the bottom of the slope, the golden glow of the late afternoon sun warmed her face and dried her unshed tears, making the corners of her eyes feel tight. She turned her face away from Gold and rubbed at them, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Gold was still holding her hand, a fact which she only noticed as he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Are you all right?”

She exhaled slowly and nodded. “Yes, yes I’m fine.”

He leaned forward a bit, dipping his head to try to catch a look at her face, and she finally turned to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” she repeated, more to herself than to him.

His lips curved slightly and he sat back, seemingly satisfied for now, though he did not let go of her hand. She wondered at the small contact between them now that he had shifted further to the other side of the seat and leaned his elbow on the edge of the window. His hand was warm and loose around hers, as if to allow her to pull away at any time, but she found it oddly comforting, even from a man she barely knew. 

There was an implicit trust bestowed by his letter, and strengthened by his request that she stand by his son at the appropriate time. It was as if he was making a deal with her and not her father, that the repayment of her family’s debts was more a means to secure this favor rather than a wife. It made her curious and nervous at the same time. She wanted to know the full story of how he had come to need to make such a request and understand his need, but a caution stirred low in her belly that the answer might not be pleasing to hear.

“How far is it to - your estate?” she asked finally.

Gold glanced at her and then fixed his eyes out the window once more, rubbing a finger over his lips before he spoke as if he had to calculate the distance in his mind. “I’d say thirty miles.”

Her eyes widened at that. By carriage that would take several hours, meaning they would arrive very late and long after dark.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, as if sensing her concern. “It’s good road and we’ll make better time than you might think.”

She sighed a little. “It will still be quite late by the time we get there.”

“Yes,” he conceded, giving her hand one last squeeze before he pulled it away and settled it in his lap. “But there will be time to see Thornhill in all its glory in the morning.”

“Thornhill?”

Gold nodded and flashed her a small smile. “The name of the estate.” She let out a small ‘oh,’ and he let out a short, soft laugh. “I kept the name when I purchased it.”

Belle frowned. Most of the nobility named their manors and estates to something associated with the family, but then again most had built them from nothing, not purchased them like a common house.

“Why?” She heard herself ask the question, and immediately clamped her mouth shut, pressing her fingers to her lips as Gold gave her a curious, sideways look. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

He shifted in his seat until he was tucked in the corner, facing her, and she noted once again how much smaller he was compared to Gaston and the other men who had been possible suitors.

“You’re not prying,” he said. “It will be your home, and you have every right to know its history.” She smiled at that and he continued. “I kept it because it seemed fitting. The land around it aren’t very suitable for farming, though they do well enough to support the estate and the people. I didn’t understand at first why anyone would name their home something that seemed so...negative, but the gardens, well, they’ll explain it soon enough.”

Belle’s head tilted. “Gardens?”

He hummed in affirmation. “They are...extensive.” Her eyes went wide, and his face cracked into a wide grin. “Am I going to be regularly sending out a search party when you get lost in the hedge maze?”

She startled and gasped, and he laughed. It was a warm, pleasant sound, and she let her head drop, snickering softly to herself as well. “I’ll just take some bread with me and drop crumbs as I go so I can find my way back.”

“The birds will love you for it,” he said, still smiling.

She bit her lip, cheeks flushing with mild embarrassment. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

The lines by his eyes crinkled, and in the faint light from the setting sun the flecks of gold become more prominent. Her mind flashed to what they might look like in the firelight if they sat together some winter evening, and the thought was so sudden and strange, that her grin immediately faded and she shifted in her seat.

“I was teasing, by the way,” Gold said after a long moment.

She looked at him sideways, her eyebrows lifted. “There’s no hedge maze?”

“No, there is. But it’s not very large and I have every confidence you’d be able to find your way without issue. Bae loves playing in it, and I’m sure he’d be glad to have another party to lead through it.”

She sat back and breathed out, her nerves returning at the mention of Gold’s son. She wasn’t sure about being a step-mother, but then she also wasn’t sure that Gold intended her to be one at all. 

“I suppose I’ll have to wait until morning to meet him.”

Gold sighed. “Yes, unfortunately. Perhaps we should have stayed in Avonlea for the night?”

She shook her head, unsure if she would have preferred delaying the inevitable or not. “No, it’s - it’s best we got moving, I think.”

“We can visit anytime you like, Belle,” he offered, fingers stretching out to brush her hand where it rested on the seat. "I'm not stealing you away from your father to lock you in a tower."

Her gaze darted to the side, watching as his index finger traced the bump of her knuckle, and barely suppressed a shiver. 

“I know,” she managed, letting her eyes trailing up to meet Gold’s. "And thank you - Cameron."

He gave her another of his crooked half smiles, and they both settled into a comfortable silence.

The sun had fully set less than an hour later. All that could be seen through the windows of the carriage were spotty, distant flickers of light from the cottages and farms that dotted the landscape between Avonlea and Thornhill. A larger glow could be seen in the next valley, and Gold looked over, ready to comment on their passing of Longbourn, the village nearest to Avonlea and the farthest North edge of Lord Maurice's lands.

He smiled and sighed as he saw Belle's sweet face, deep asleep. Reaching down, he pulled a wool blanket out of the bin under the seat and laid it over her. She let out a soft sigh, and he swallowed, looking away as the carriage began to climb the slope of the next hill.

He hadn’t expected Lady Belle to be so beautiful or kind, or for her personality to be so appealing. His hope had been to find her well read, trustworthy, and tolerable enough to suit his plans, but the moment he laid eyes on her, he began to hate himself. She could have any man she wanted, and here he was taking advantage of her family’s financial situation, using it to trap her into a marriage that she clearly didn’t want. 

The carriage went around a bend and the wheels caught in the ruts, rocking the entire thing side to side. Gold brace against the door and looked over at Belle just in time to see her tip to the side and come to rest against his shoulder. She sniffed in her sleep and made a small, quiet noise. He held his breath until she settled, and then exhaled slowly. Instinct made him want to put his arm around her and help her lay more comfortably, but propriety held him back. A promise had been made, in writing. Nothing more than she was willing to give, even if she was unaware and blissfully asleep on a bumpy road. 

His fingers curled against his leg, fisting over his trousers as he inhaled her scent. The perfume she was wearing reminded him of the gardens in the peak of summer, when the warm breeze carried a hint of rose and wisteria. He wondered about the circumstances of her broken engagement to Sir Gaston. While no one could blame any woman for not wanting to marry such an overbearing lummox, the entire thing had seemed to be tinged with some unknown scandal. He assumed it to be entirely on Sir Gaston’s side, given the man’s known propensity for drink and women, but the way Maurice had spoken of it hinted at more. 

Another rough patch of road left Gold groaning and rubbing at his leg as a sharp pain pulsed through the muscles from foot to thigh. He shifted and stretched it out as best he could, careful not to jostle Belle too much. Her hand came up and curled around his arm, and he couldn’t help but smile even through the agony in his ankle as he rotated it one way and the other until the cramping ceased. His hand came up and covered hers, feeling the smooth warm skin beneath his palm, even against his better judgement and the nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him to keep a safe distance. His future held nothing but sorrow, save for his son, and the last thing he wanted was for Belle to be hurt by association. 

Everything he was doing was for Baeden, but he did hope the boy liked Belle, at least as much as Gold feared he himself would.

* * *

Belle awoke in the carriage with a start, and heard the telltale sound of the wheels rolling over stones instead of dirt.

She sat up and looked around, confused momentarily until she realized she’d been leaning on Gold’s shoulder as she slept. “Sorry,” she mumbled, flushing red with embarrassment.

He gave her a strange look and shrugged. “It’s no matter.”

“We’ve arrived,” she said, leaning forward to look out of the window of the carriage.

He inclined his head. “We have indeed.”

He pushed open the door on his side and came around to hers, offering her a hand as she stepped down. She looked up with wide eyes at the large structure, so much higher and wider than Avonlea.

“It’s...”

“Much prettier in the daylight,” he finished for her, with a flat look that gave away his sarcastic intent. 

Belle let out a soft laugh, and then Gold gave orders to the valet and two servants who had come out to greet them. 

“All of the trunks in the wagon go to Lady Belle’s rooms in the south wing.”

The men nodded and began unloading, as meanwhile Belle stared up at Thornhill with apprehension. It was so much bigger than she’d imagined, more like the king’s palace than an estate home, and she marveled at how Gold had come to acquire it. Had it been available so cheaply, or was his wealth even more than she’d first understood.

A touch at her arm shook her from her contemplation and she turned to see Gold watching her.

“Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She could do no more than nod, and took his arm, letting him lead her through the front archway into a wide courtyard. There were sculpted shrubs and potted plants lining the way as they walked through it to what she presumed was the front door. Inside, a wide staircase lead up to the second floor, wide enough for three people to walk side by side. There wasn’t time to look around the rest of the foyer, or any of the other rooms before they headed upstairs.

“This is the way to the family bedrooms,” he said as he lead her down a hallway that ran from the front of the house to the back. She gave him a sideways look as they came to an end, and he added, “They have the best view of the gardens.”

Belle smiled at that, and let him guide her around the corner to the left. The corridor was shorter than she expected, and lined with three doors on either side. She began to wonder how long it would take her to decipher the labyrinth of halls and rooms and stairs that made up Thornhill. A month? A year? Perhaps young Bae would be as delighted to show her around the house as he would be the hedge maze.

“This hall is yours,” Gold declared. “There’s two sitting rooms, here and here, a bathing room, small library...”

She gasped in surprise and delight, and then covered her mouth with her hand. Giving her a bemused smile, he continued on. “A dressing room there, and this...” He stopped and slipped his arm from hers to open a set of double doors at the very end of the corridor. “This is your room.”

Belle stepped inside, her lips pressed together as she took it all in. It was more rooms than she’d ever occupied at Avonlea and she wasn’t sure she’d ever find enough things or purposes to fill them all. The bedroom was wide but not too large that the single fireplace, which itself was sizable, couldn’t warm the space. At one end was a canopied bed with curtains tied back on either side. There was only a small chest of drawers and a vanity, she presumed because an entire room was devoted to storing her clothing, a fact that still had part of her mind spinning. A curved chaise and two chairs made a small sitting area near the fireplace, and along the back wall was a set of four large windows, two of which opened onto a terrace.

“Consider these a blank canvas. You can change anything that isn’t to your liking,” Gold added from the doorway. “I fear I’ve left them rather plain and awaiting the right touch.”

She barely heard him as she moved forward, running her hand over the edges of the furniture. She approached the window nearest the bed and lifted back the curtain to peer into the darkness. A few torches lit the patio below, but she couldn’t see much more than a few feet of grass and more potted plants set along the edge of the stone pavers.

“It looks rather nice in the sunlight,” he said, standing just behind her. 

Her lips twitched and she glanced up at him over her shoulder. “And if I don’t like the view?”

Gold’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Then I’m sure we can find another room with another view that you will like better.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure this one will be lovely.”

“Well,” he said, smoothing his hands down the front of his coat. It was lightly creased from so long in the carriage, but she thought he still looked quite nice. “It’s late and -”

“Where is your room?” she asked abruptly. She didn’t know where the thought had come from, but once it was there she couldn’t help but let it out.

“The other end,” he said simply. “Of the hall.”

She blinked, surprised that he’d be so close by. Sir Gaston had promised her space in an entire wing of his estate, enough to keep her far away from his rooms and whatever went on there. Her own parents were separated by the entire width of Avonlea manor. Gold was so near that she could poke her head out of her bedroom door and see his at the opposite end.

Gold’s hand twisted against the hand of his cane. “Is that - a problem?”

“No!” She paused and swallowed. “No, it’s - it’s fine. I was just - curious is all. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no matter.” He said before he took a step back and bowed at the waist. “I will bid you goodnight, at and let you get settled before bed.”

“Goodnight,” she replied. “Cameron.”

A small smile crinkled his eyes again, and he bowed a second time. Goodnight, Belle.”

A long slow breath left her after the door close and she dropped down on the mattress, closing her eyes for a moment.

_Thornhill._

Her new home. With her new husband just at the end of the hall.

Opening her eyes, she looked around the room again and starting to smile. Her hands roamed over the fabric, testing with gentle pushes. The mattress and pillows were plush and soft, perhaps the most decadent she’d ever touched, and she’d stayed several nights at the King’s summer palace with Ariel. Her hand traced the faint pattern stitched into the creamy white duvet, the delicate blue thread tucking the fabric to make fluffy hills and narrow valleys. 

She smiled and bit her lip. Lord Gold - _Cameron_ \- she corrected herself, again, had told her that her rooms were a blank canvas, awaiting her touch, her preferences. Yet as she looked around the already well appointed room, with its soft colors and wide balcony overlooking the ample gardens, she wasn’t sure if there was anything she would change.

In fact, she was considering that perhaps there was nothing she would change about the situation at all, her marriage included.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle awakens in new surroundings, meets some new people, and gets a hint of another side of Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! This fic is now my focus for another 31 Days of Fandomas, so hopefully you can expect regular updates all month long. For the Day #1 prompt: chill.

Belle awakened slowly that morning, stretching over the plush mattress and arching her back until the tension finally gave. She rolled onto her side, expecting to see the sun just rising, golden and bright over the garden, but there was no warm glow peeking through the gap in the curtains. The air in the room had a slight chill to it, and she realized that the fire had almost burned out overnight. She climbed out of bed and crossed the short distance to the hearth, carefully laying two logs across each other on the warm embers and blowing gently until the flames licked at them and finally caught. After warming herself for a long moment, she moved to the window and lifted aside the curtain. 

A gray gloom blanketed the landscape, the fog so thick and damp that she could barely see more of the garden than last evening. The bright colors of the potted flowers were more visible, providing a stark contrast to the monotone morning light, but the cooler air signaled the coming shift from autumn into winter. Though the blooms would not last much longer, she hoped she might some of the garden’s splendor before the first snow.

She peered up at the sky and frowned. The sun was a faint circle, struggling to break through the mist as it sat high above the tree line. Usually, she awoke early, and was up and dressed by six, in time to see the last vestiges of night fading and watch the sunrise over breakfast, but the height of the sun had told her it must be nearly mid-morning. The small hand on the clock on her night table shifted towards nine, and she’d felt terribly embarrassed at having slept so late.

They must have arrived later than she had realized last night.

Before she could fret too much, she noticed a tray by the bedroom door and crossed the space to pick it up. It was silver and flat enough that it was likely slipped under the door, and in the middle of it was a folded piece of paper with her name written on it.

Immediately, Belle recognized Lord Gold's handwriting and started to smile. She set the tray on the little table by the sofa, and then sat down to read what she assumed her husband had left her.

_Belle,_

_I hope that your first night in unfamiliar surroundings passed without incident, and that the morning finds you well and rested. I have some business to attend to this afternoon in the village of Amsburg, which should take me until early evening. If you arise early enough, I hope you will join Bae and I for breakfast. We usually eat in the smaller drawing room at the back of the house. You'll find it down the main staircase and to your left._

_There is a bell to ring for the maids by the bed. I've assigned two young ladies to assist you in any way you require until your Astrid arrives._

_Yours,_

_Cameron_

Belle exhaled and folded the paper closed, laying it in her lap as she contemplated not only his words, but the fact that he had arisen early, written them, and left them for her to find. The closing felt simple and familiar, as if he often left her little notes. She found herself hoping that he might, and that in turn maybe she would as well, and they could both learn a little of each other without the uncertainty speech and uncomfortable pauses getting in the way. As she'd expected, she'd heard his voice quite clearly in her mind, and it left her pulse fluttering oddly and her lips curving.

She found the rope pull near the head of the bed, and after ringing it once, the two maids Gold mentioned appeared to help her get ready. She felt her cheeks flush as the two strangers helped her into her favorite blue dress over a soft, cream colored shift. The women were younger than her by at least a few years, and seemed pleasant enough, but they weren’t Astrid and the awkwardness of the situation made her stomach unsettled. She hoped that Gold would send for Astrid as quickly as he promised so she could have some familiar tether to her old life.

The click of her silver shoes seemed louder than usual as she made her way down the wide staircase at the front of the - house? Manor? She wasn’t sure what to call it. Avonlea had always been ‘the house’ or ‘home’ in her head, but Thornhill was so much larger and grander than either of those words conveyed. Gold had instructed her to go left at the bottom of the staircase, but she got turned around somehow, and had to make her way back to the stairs where a very tall, lanky man directed her to the drawing room with a bemused smile. It was just off the hall from the kitchen, and smaller than she expected. There was a fireplace against one wall near a round table set with five chairs, and seated at one of them was her husband.

_Husband._ She wondered if that word would ever stop sounding strange in her mind.

“Did you sleep well?”

Belle felt her face heat as she approached Gold, meeting his bemused gaze across the table. The plate in front of him was empty save for a scatter of crumbs, and there was no longer any steam rising up from the spout of the tea kettle. It appeared that he’d been long finished with breakfast, and his son was nowhere to be seen. Behind him, two sets of large double doors lead out to the stone patio, the one she’d glimpsed from her bedroom the night before, and which was still heavy with morning fog.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Did you?” 

His gaze quickly traveled up and down her form, as if he was appraising her old dress and worn shoes, making her fidget with the pleats of her skirt before she sat in the chair to his right. 

He shrugged one shoulder, and set the papers he’d been reading aside. “As well as I ever do.”

“I must apologize, I’m usually up much earlier than this,” she added, her eyes glancing around the nearly bare table. A basket to her left contained several slices of bread and two small jars of fresh jam, and she pressed a hand to her empty stomach before it could rumble too loudly.

“So am I,” he sighed, leaning back in the chair. “But we arrived after midnight, so I supposed we’re both allowed an extra lie in.” 

“Well, I think mine was a little more _extra_ than yours.” 

Her lips curved slightly as she reached for the bread basket, and she allowed herself a moment to take in his appearance. If he could quietly judge her, then she could likewise judge him, though his clothes appeared far more expensive than hers. He wore a gray coat with a high collar, though not as ostentatious as the one he wore at their wedding just a day ago. Beneath it was a coordinating waistcoat in the same fabric, but stitched with a diamond pattern in a silver thread giving it a slight luster and contrast that was quite attractive. A dark crimson ascot tied at the neck of his white shirt stood out vibrantly against the otherwise monochromatic palette of his attire.

He chuckled lightly and waved a hand. “It’s no matter.” Then he pushed back from the table and watched as she scraped the knife across the slice of bread she held still with her fingers. “Would you like something for breakfast?” 

She glanced up at him, pausing with the knife. “I have something for breakfast.” 

Gold’s head tilted and he made a face at her. “You have a slice of bread and jam, that’s barely anything at all. Please, I can ring for Ms. Potts, and have her bring whatever you like.”

Belle paused for a long moment, and then finally nodded, feeling awful at having been so late as to miss breakfast almost entirely, and at having to make the kitchen prepare more. “Thank you.”

Ms. Potts was a jovial woman with a kind, round face and a pile of silver curls tucked under a white cap. She fussed over the table, asking only how Belle preferred her eggs - soft boiled or poached, if she had a choice - and then departed to fuss over the kitchen staff, which they could hear down the corridor. Belle muffled a giggle with her hand, and Gold shook his head as Ms. Potts reappeared a few minutes later with a tray containing a soft boiled egg in a silver cup, a platter of sausages, more bread, and a fresh pot of tea. 

“I’m so sorry,” Belle said, stopping Ms. Potts with a hand on the woman’s arm.

Ms. Potts gave her a strange look and glanced down at her hand. “Whatever for?”

Belle smiled at her. “For having to make a whole new breakfast just for me. I should have been ready earlier.”

Potts gave a quick shake of her head and patted the back of Belle’s hand. “Pay it no mind, dear.”

“Well,” Belle nodded, “all the same.”

Gold seemed to watch the exchange with interest, rubbing his bottom lip with his finger as his eyes kept darting between the two women until Ms. Potts finally departed.

“Better than bread and jam?” Gold asked, glancing at her as he poured tea for both of them.

Belle paused with her spoon raised, ready to crack open the egg, and gave him a small smile. “Yes, thank you.”

He waved a hand and set one of the cups down to the right of her plate, clinking it gently against the saucer. “I assure you that Ms. Potts doesn’t mind the extra work. She’s probably beside herself with joy that there’s another person in the house for her to fuss over like a mother hen."

"She seems very amiable," Belle agreed.

She had just put a piece of lightly toasted bread in her mouth, the corner dipped in warm, gooey egg yolk, when a young boy came bounding into the room. His steps were so quick and heavy that their tea cups rattled in their saucers as he came around the table, panting and nearly out of breath.

"Papa!" the boy exclaimed. “Moreen’s cat had kittens last night, and her mother said I can come see them if it’s alright with you. Can I go, Papa? It’s just across the field in their barn. There’s _eight_ of them!”

Gold’s expression immediately changed, his eyes wider and his mouth widening into a grin. “Eight! My word, Bae, that’s a lot of little kittens.”

“It is,” Bae replied, his face suddenly serious. “But they’re waiting for me out front. Can I go?”

The way he drew out the _‘oh’_ sound at the end in such a plaintive way, had Belle covering her mouth with her napkin. Her first glimpse of Gold’s son was already endearing, from his unruly hair that curled at his ears, to the way he bounced excited on the balls of his feet as he awaited his father’s permission.

“Perhaps you should say hello to Lady Belle before you go,” Gold said, motioning towards Belle. “We arrived home so late last night that I didn’t have a chance to make proper introductions. Belle, this is my son, Baeden. Bae, this is Lady Belle, my, um, my wife.”

Bae grew very still and quiet, and Belle realized it was the first time she’d heard Gold use that word to refer to her. She wondered if Bae had known what his father was doing in Avonlea, or if the appearance of a spouse was a complete surprise. The entire situation was confusing and Gold’s motivations remained something of a mystery, so it was entirely possible that his own son was in the dark as well. 

She could feel a strange intensity in the boy’s gaze as he faced her for the first time, and she forced the most pleasant smile she could manage. “Hello.” 

She received nothing except several seconds of a blank stare in return. Then he blinked once and his nose scrunched up a bit, his mouth flattening as if he was about to frown, but instead he gave her a short nod.

“Hey,” was his only reply.

Her face faltered, and a second later, Bae was looking at Gold again, insisting on an answer. Belle tried to turn back to her breakfast as father admonished son to be careful and to be back within a couple of hours, but she immediately felt out of place, like she was intruding on their little family.

Bae left the room with only slightly less exuberance than he arrived, and Gold sighed heavily.

“Sorry for that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid my son can be rather single-minded.”

“It’s alright,” Belle replied. “Truly. I’m sure we’ll - we’ll get along just fine.”

Gold didn’t seem convinced, and after a few moments, he excused himself, saying he needed to finish some work before he left for Amsburg. Before he left he extended an invitation for her to join him for a late dinner, which she readily accepted. Her breakfast was pleasant, and as she ate the fog and gloom began to lift outside and her spirits with it. It seemed exploring the gardens and grounds of her new home was not out of the question, and the thought occurred to her that she might see if Baeden was willing to show her around once he had returned from the adventure of new kittens. She hoped that she was wrong in her earlier wonderings and that he wasn’t surprised by her being here, but that even if he was, that there was still the chance for them to have an amicable relationship.

* * *

Belle decided to change her shoes before she visited the garden, not wanting her short heels to sink into the damp earth, and returned to her room to fetch a pair of leather walking boots.

On her way back down the hall, she paused and gazed down at the other end of the long corridor where Gold’s rooms were. The way breakfast ended had left her unsettled, and before she tried to engage Baeden in any conversation she wanted to be sure of what he knew about the circumstances of his father’s marriage. She took a breath and strode down the hall, bypassing the path to the front staircase, and crossing into what she’d come to think of as Gold’s side of the floor. Her brave impulse carried her as far as the second door, when she heard Gold’s voice and stopped.

“Jefferson -”

A man’s laughter rang out in the space followed by a voice that was unfamiliar to Belle. “Come now, Gold, do you really expect me to believe that?”

Gold huffed, and she heard the thump of something hard against the floor.

“As my steward, I expect you to believe what I tell you.”

Belle swallowed and inched forward, only to stop again as the voices continued.

“I’ll believe you when I think you’re telling me the truth and not just putting me off. You need to be honest with her about what’s happening, it’s not fair to -”

“_Enough, Jefferson!_” came Gold’s angry voice. There was another thump, louder than the first, and Belle took a cautious step back. “I will _not_ hear another word about it. It is mine to deal with, _mine_, do you hear me? And if you overstep even an inch, I _swear_ I’ll -”

“Yes, yes,” Jefferson replied. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

Belle turned as she heard footsteps come closer to the door, and made her way back to the staircase. The tone of Gold’s voice had shaken her, the vehemence with which he spoke to his steward in sharp contrast to the gentle manner which he’d had with her so far, and she wondered at what could have angered him so. Whatever it was, she suspected it had to do with her and whatever it was that this Jefferson thought she should be told. Abruptly, she found herself at the bottom of the stairs, out of breath, and stopped for a moment to lean on the railing, before finding her way back to the drawing room and the doors that lead out to the garden. Something was being kept from her, something that Gold clearly didn’t want her to know, at least not yet, but she tried to put it out of mind as she stepped out into the cool autumn air.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Gold leaves, Belle discovers some of the wonders of the garden, and makes a new acquaintance. Later, Gold returns home to a surprising scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this chapter was a struggle but it was. It's like my brain wants to get to the meatier chapters and move faster, but I can't just yet. For the 31 Days prompt: light.

Belle pulled her shawl tighter around her as she followed the path through the hedgerow.

Beyond the hedges were two neat columns of flowers intermixed with tall, wispy grasses, and shrubs with broad, dark leaves. She smiled and inhaled deeply the scent of red and pink roses and white wisteria, the chill in the air forgotten in the rapture of the garden still in full bloom and bathed in the warm sunlight. The two rows of flowers bordered a small park space with a cluster of multicolored petunias surrounding a small fountain. There were benches on either side of the water feature, and she crossed to one of them and sat down. The sound of trickling water was quite pleasing, particularly when paired with the occasion twittering of birds. 

It was nearly idyllic, and she imagined she might be able to spend many hours in the spring and summer in such a setting. Indeed, retreating to the calming embrace of nature could end up being a welcome respite from the stilted companionship she might otherwise find inside Thornhill. Sighing, she twisted on the bench and trailed her fingertips through the water.

“Ah,” came a voice. “Here I find you at last.”

Belle looked up, shaking the water off her hand and quickly wiping it dry on the edge of her shawl. A man was coming towards her, wearing a red velvet coat with long tails above a pair of dark striped breeches and tall leather boots. His hair was dark and wavy, and his attire was bold and slightly mismatched, though not so much that any one part of it was out of place when taken with the whole. On his head was a top hat in a style that had gone out of fashion a number of years ago, yet also seemed to suit him, surprisingly. 

She blinked and started to smile as she took in his appearance. “I was not aware that I was lost, sir.”

The man grinned widely and then stopped to give her a low, sweeping bow, complete with a flourish of his hat. “Well, you couldn’t possibly be now that you are found, could you?”

She let out a soft giggle and shook her head at his strange, but charming turns of phrase. “Indeed I could not, but then how would I have known that I was in the first place when I knew perfectly well where I was?”

He tipped his head back and laughed, holding his hat in his hands in front of him until his glee had subsided. “Oh, you are a _delight_, aren't you,” he said as he came to sit beside her. “I’m Jefferson, the Steward, and general jack of all trades around this place.”

He held out his hand to her, and she stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and allowing him to give her a firm handshake. It was an odd and unexpected greeting, but it pleased her in a way she couldn’t explain. It seem to fit with the rest of him, eccentric, charming, and endearingly strange.

“Belle,” she replied. “And it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Just Jefferson, my lady.” Jefferson let go of her hand and looked around the garden. “And how are you finding the natural splendors of Thornhill?”

“I’m finding them very well. And, please, you must call me Belle, I insist.”

“As you wish,” he said, giving her a slight tilt of his head and a smile. “So, _Belle_, would you care to take a turn with me around the garden?”

At her nod of agreement, he stood again and offered her his arm. They strolled slowly away from the fountain, following a stone path through a second hedgerow. On the other side, the path widened and curved downward, winding along a small hill with a series of steps and landings, lined with trees on either side that shaded the walkway. At the bottom Belle could see another layer to the garden made of shaped shrubs set in planters. The paths among them were made of flat tiles that outlined each of them in a square and themselves formed a pattern of ever increasingly larger squares, the biggest of which outlined the entire area.

She gasped softly, and Jefferson smiled at her.

“A bit much, isn’t it? It seems to go on forever.”

Belle looked at him oddly. “Whatever do you mean? I think it’s wonderful to have so many terraces and gardens, though it might take me all spring to become properly acquainted with them.”

He chuckled lightly. “It might indeed. Though take care with the maze, lest you get lost in it for the whole of summer.”

Her eyes widened and she laughed. “Lord Gold mentioned a hedge maze to me on our trip here. It sounds like a fine adventure.”

“Lord Gold,” he repeated with a small shake of his head and a gentle pat on her hand, “so formal with your new husband?”

She stiffened and looked away. It would have been easy to take that as an opportunity to pry into the details of his earlier discussion with Gold, a matter that for the most part she’d managed to put out of her mind. In doing so she would expose her unintended eavesdropping, and the thought made her face heat.

“Well, I don’t mean to be, but I have to confess that calling him by his given name still feels wrong.”

Jefferson nodded. “Yes, I imagine so. Your situation is - _unique._”

Belle flashed a smile. “That’s certainly a word for it. I fear that it may take some time to come to terms with everything that’s happened, and to find out I might fit in here.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said, “you’ve done admirably with me so far.”

She grinned again, finding Jefferson’s manner appreciably easy and comfortable, and wishing that her husband's could be the same. “I haven’t met very many people so far, and I’m afraid that apart from Ms. Potts and you, I haven’t had the best of luck.”

He frowned and lead her passed two tall shrubs trimmed to look like birds with long tail feathers. “Have you been properly introduce to young Bae?”

She blew out a breath. “Oh, I have, brief as it was. I don’t think he found me very impressive.”

“Well, he is a ten year old boy, not much impresses him beyond animals, mud, and sweets.”

“True, but -” She sighed and they stopped walking for a moment. “I feel like it was more than that. I feel like he was cross with my very existence.”

Jefferson gave her a sympathetic look and tucked her arm back in his as they continued on. “I have to admit that he wasn’t keen on his father’s plan to marry, but he won’t take it out on you, he’s not like that. I trust that his dismay will be short lived as it usually is, give him a few days.”

Belle pondered his words as they made their way back to the manor house, winding through the first level of the garden. He lead her on an extra lap around the fountain at an increasing pace, each trying to outdo the other by walking faster and faster, until they were both laughing at their shared silliness. She felt her heart lighten of its earlier fears. There may be secrets between Gold and her, and an indifference from his son, but Jefferson was on his way to being a dear friend and she was most grateful for it. 

They came to stop at the doors into the drawing room, still laughing together, when Jefferson pulled Belle around to face him, his hand holding her arm gently. 

“Belle, if I may caution you a bit, Gold is - well, he’s - he’s…” He stopped and sighed, rolling his eyes at himself. “Complicated is perhaps too harsh, and I don’t want to speak out of turn.”

“Speak honestly,” she said, her head tilting to the side, “and there shall be no censure from me, not ever.”

He gave a short nod at that and exhaled. “I have known him for some years now, and I am proud to call him a friend in spite of his demeanor. But I promise you that he is - he is more than he seems. Does that make any sense?”

Belle gave Jefferson’s hand a squeeze and nodded. “Yes, I believe I understand you. Thank you, Jefferson.”

“Would you care for some tea?” he asked, holding the door open for her to pass ahead of him.

“Tea sounds lovely.”

Jefferson made his way to the kitchen, preferring to fetch the tea tray himself, rather than ring for Ms. Potts, and Belle made herself comfortable on the lounge in front of the fireplace. Her eyes drifted over to the table where she and Gold had their breakfast just a couple of hours ago as she fiddled with the ends of her shawl. His note had put her in such a bright mood that morning, but Bae’s reaction to her presence and Gold’s gruff tone with Jefferson had disrupted her mood. It was silly, but she couldn’t help it. She felt as though there was nothing to ground her, or give her a sense of purpose in this place, and she could only hope that when Astrid arrived things would feel a little more normal.

Jefferson’s words had also left her a bit confused. They felt like a warning, as if he was trying to tell her that the sharpness and anger she’d heard from Gold was more true to his personality than the gentle awkwardness she’d known so far. But coming from someone who counted Gold as a friend such an implication seemed out of place. She knew she needed some time to think on it, and wondered if she might beg off having dinner with Gold when he returned and have some time to herself in her room. 

A moment later, Jefferson returned with a silver tea tray in his hands which he set on the table. He was followed by Baeden who was excitedly informing him of all the names of the kittens he’d visited. The way he rattled off the names and described what each one looked like was as impressive as it was sweet, and Belle smiled as she watched Jefferson pour the tea.

“Well, Bae, it sounds like you’ve had quite a morning already,” Jefferson said. “I wonder that you’ll have any energy left for your lessons this afternoon.”

Bae made a face. “It’s not sums is it?”

“Bae…”

He let out a plaintive whine and slumped. “I hate sums. Can’t we do more reading instead? I’ll do a whole chapter, I promise.”

Belle pressed her lips together, remembering when she had made nearly the same argument to her governess.

Jefferson straightened with a cup and saucer in his hand and eyed Bae. “You made the same deal with me yesterday as I recall… You’ll not trick me again, young Master Gold!”

Bae huffed. “_Fine._”

With that Jefferson turned and offered the tea to Belle, who accepted it readily as Bae suddenly realized there was another person in the room.

“Hello,” she said, smiling.

Bae looked down at his shoes and then met her gaze. “Hi.” A beat later he turned to Jefferson. “Can we have cakes with the tea?”

Jefferson whirled around on his heel, sending the tails of his coat twirling out behind him. “Hmm. I’m not sure…”

“Please, Jefferson? We can’t have tea without cakes!”

“Oh, can’t we? Is that _illegal_ now? Has there been a royal decree I’m unaware of?”

Bae gave Belle a pleading glance, and she bit her lip.

“What say you, Belle?” Jefferson asked. His eyes darted to Bae and then back to her as his lips twitched.

“I’m afraid I must agree,” she said with a feigned heavy sigh. Bae's face fell for an instant, and she bit her lip as she grinned. “Tea without cakes is simply not done, Jefferson.”

Bae let out a whoop of victory and beamed at her, and she felt the tension in her body ease. The boy came to sit next to her on the sofa, swinging his legs over the edge as he gave Jefferson a rather imprudent look. Conceding defeat, Jefferson pressed a hand to his chest and departed to the kitchen for a platter of small cakes and cookies.

* * *

Gold returned well after dark, much to his dismay.

His business in Amsburg had taken far longer than necessary, and had not come out as well as he’d hoped. Combined with the travel, it had put him in quite a coarse mood, and he hoped that Belle had not waited on him to have dinner. He feared he would make poor company this evening, and he didn’t want to put her off. Even on some of his best days his tone could be rude and surly, and while Jefferson and Bae and most of the staff were used to it by now, Belle was not. He wanted to have an amicable relationship with her, especially as she was to be his son’s future guardian, and subjecting her to his darker moods would not help matters in that direction.

He waved off the maid inside the door and took off his own coat, laying it over the table in the hall before making his way to the drawing room. His leg was aching terribly and he longed for a hot bath and a brandy to ease his pains.

In the doorway, he stopped, and took in the scene. Sitting on the sofa near the fireplace were Belle and Bae, with a book laid open between them. Bae was reading aloud about a knight on a quest to slay a dragon as Belle listened and helped him with some of the harder words. Gold started to smile as an ache spread out from the center of his chest. It was a light, warm sensation, and for this small moment he felt as though he'd made the right choice. Bae seemed to have set aside his objections to Belle now that he'd met her properly, and he hoped that would be the end of that particular disagreement.

The floor creaked beneath his cane, and the two of them looked up in surprise.

"Papa!" Bae immediately set the book to the side and came over. "I was reading to Belle about James the brave knight."

Gold ruffled the boy's hair and smiled. "I heard. How was your day?”

“Good, except Jefferson made me do sums again,” Bae replied, giving Gold a small squeeze. “But I got to help name all the kittens.”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s very good. I’m sure you can tell me all about them tomorrow, yes? It’s time for a bath and bed.”

Bae sighed. “Can we finish the book tomorrow, Belle?”

“Of course we can. I’d be delighted to have you read to me some more. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Bae smiled and left the room, and a moment later, his fast, heavy steps could be heard on the stairs.

She shook her head and smile as she laid a ribbon along the book and closed it to mark their place. “And how was your trip?”

Gold sighed and sank down into an arm chair across from her. “Not as good as I wanted it to be. Seems like you had a much better day.”

Belle nodded, her fingers fiddling with the end of the ribbon where it stuck out from the middle of the book. “Yes, it - it went well. I met Jefferson, did a turn around the garden, and then we had tea with Bae.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched his bad leg out in front of him, holding back a wince as the cramped muscles tensed. “Well, I’m glad he’s warmed to you a bit, though I am still sorry about earlier.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. He’s a young boy, and I don’t imagine I’d be very amenable to someone coming into my life unannounced.”

Gold frowned at her choice of words, but let it go. She hadn’t been entirely unannounced, but he couldn’t fault her for not knowing the full circumstances when he hadn’t been very forthcoming about telling her them. At some point that would have to change, but it had been a long day and he wasn’t in the right mindset for that kind of conversation.

“We, um, we ate dinner already,” she said after a moment. “We didn’t know for sure when you’d return and I was hungry so… I’m sorry.”

“No matter,” he sighed. “I’m not fit company anyway this evening.”

Belle gave him a strange look, and then set the book on the side table. “Well, goodnight then.”

Gold swallowed and nodded. “Goodnight.”

After she left, he sat for a while, ignoring both the hunger pains in his belly and the sharp throb in his leg as he stared into the fire. That moment when he’d come in the room and saw Belle and Bae together had struck a chord with him. Bae had been too young to remember his mother when she left, and she was back for such a short time that even though he’d been old enough to know her, he hadn’t formed much of a bond. It had always left Gold wondering if he should have remarried sooner, if he should have found his son a mother to help raise him. Perhaps Belle could become something of a mother figure, even though he knew Bae would likely never think of her that way. She could still help guide him down the right path and be his friend, she could be there for him later in life when there was no one else, when his father was gone too.

Pushing aside the maudlin thoughts, Gold made his way to the kitchen with the hopes of finding some food for himself, and turned his mind to how he might salvage his deal in Amsburg before the month was over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid arrives, Belle gets a tour of the house, and spends some more time with Bae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this chapter sucks, I'm sorry. It didn't go where I wanted it to. For the 31 Days prompt #4: dress.

Astrid arrived the next day, just before afternoon tea.

Belle momentarily forgot what had been troubling her in the midst of her delight at seeing her maid and friend again. It felt as if part of the world had righted itself for a while, and she busied herself helping Astrid get settled in a room on the east wing. Ms. Potts seemed equally pleased by the new arrival, and wasted no time in showing Astrid around the house, including the kitchen and back stairs the servants used to slip in and out of where they were needed.

Astrid, for her part, was a nervous wreck, nearly knocking over a vase on the way passed the music room, and slipping on the steps down to the root cellar. Belle couldn’t stop smiling as she finally got a full tour of Thornhill, though she doubted she’d be able to remember her way from the gallery to the formal dining room any time soon. The library, however, was already permanently etched in her mind.

The sound she made when Ms. Potts opened the double doors made Astrid giggle, and Ms. Potts looked over her shoulder knowingly.

“This is the main library,” she explained to Astrid, marching across the room to open a row of curtains and let in some light.

The walls of the library were floor to ceiling shelves with ladders set on rails as was the custom in most estates and manors, but these were larger and wider than Belle had seen before. They seemed more like a full set of stairs than a ladder, and she caught herself imagining how easy it would be to climb all the way up and fetch the books on the highest levels. The windows Ms. Potts revealed looked out onto the side yard where a large willow tree loomed over a pond. The windows themselves were wide and set in a semi-circle which created large ledge that was covered with cushions.

Belle’s eyes went wide and she immediately went over to it and brushed her hands over the plush, soft pillows. It was the perfect place to sit and read when it was too cold or wet to be outside in the garden. 

“You said this was the main library?” Astrid asked. “Are there...others?”

“There’s a small book room upstairs near Lady Belle’s chambers,” Ms. Potts replied, fussing with the candles on the fireplace mantle because they weren’t lined up properly. “It used to be a bedroom, but m’Lord had the shelves added shortly before m’Lady arrived.”

Belle startled a bit at that and felt her face flush. Somehow knowing that Gold had put the shelves in so close to their wedding made her think that he had done it specifically for her, and she wondered how he knew she liked to read so much. Had he spoken with her father or one of her acquaintances? He had seemed curious about her reading habits when they’d run into each other in the library at Avonlea, but not entirely surprised. The thought that he’d done it because she might like it, because it would make her feel more at home, only made his behavior yesterday more confusing. Someone who would be that thoughtful towards a woman he had never met before the moment they married, couldn’t possibly be the same person who would yell at a friend so harshly.

Astrid grinned at Belle. “Your own book room?”

She shook of her thoughts and nodded to Astrid. “I haven’t begun to fill it yet. All the books I brought with me are in my bedroom.”

“I doubt that’ll ever change,” Astrid said playfully. “But one of the trunks I brought with me is full of even more books.”

Belle squealed in pleasure and pulled Astrid into a hug, twirling her around on the rug in the middle of the room. Ms. Potts rolled her eyes, but she was smiling all the same as she lead them out of the room.

* * *

Belle left Astrid to unpack her things, and retreated to her bedroom.

Two trunks had been delivered while she was traipsing around Thornhill, following Ms. Potts. The smaller of the two was the one Astrid spoke of, and was filled with four stacks of books from the library at Avonlea. She sorted through them briefly, and saw that Astrid had brought most of her favorites as well as a few mythology and history books. Though the library here seemed more than well stocked, she wondered if Bae might like to use them in his lessons or perhaps read through them with her. She liked the stories about the old gods, about the magic that they say used to bind the world together and the creatures that time had forgotten.

The second trunk was more of her clothes, but as she laid her things out on her bed, she began to frown. She hadn’t purchased new things in a while, not since she learned of the financial troubles her father was in, and as a result a lot of her dresses and skirts had started to tatter and fade. The colors weren’t as bold as they once were and the hems were tinged from dragging through the dirt and grass as she walked the gardens. She was a bit afraid to ask, but she thought perhaps Gold would allow her to buy a few new things soon. The solstice was coming and if they were going to attend any celebrations or have one of their own, a new gown would be in order. She remembered his letter mentioning that Bae’s birthday was just before that as well.

Perhaps there would be other occasions as well, there was a ballroom downstairs after all, and a large formal dining room. It had been ages since she’d been at an event or a ball. The last was Ariel’s wedding, and that was nearly two years ago now. She couldn’t picture Gold as the type to want to socialize, but then again he was often at the king’s court, or so she had heard. It would be something to broach with him later, after she’d settled her mind a bit more.

It was at least an hour until supper, so Belle decided to try out the desk in the lounge across the hall from her bedroom and write her father a letter. He would want to know that she was alright, that she was safe and settled, and that Astrid had arrived as well. The light from the southwest facing windows was wonderful at this time of day, and she found herself feeling a bit more content as she pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and uncapped the inkwell.

The light scrape of the pen was soothing as was the familiar motions of her hand as she wrote out Papa in large, scrolling letters are the top. She paused and smiled, pleased to recall that Bae had called Gold the same thing when he’d come into the drawing room during breakfast. It was a small thing, but still something they had in common, that made her feel just a little bit of a connection to the boy.

She wrote that she was well, that Astrid was well, and that they were both getting settled. She told him of the lovely gardens and urged him not to worry, that she would write more soon. Her hand paused on its way to dip the pen again, and she worried her bottom lip. Instinct told her to add that she would come to visit, but she didn’t know for sure that she would. 

Leaving Avonlea had seemed so final that the thought of going back left her uncertain. If she did would she ever want to leave again? Would it be harder the second time? What about the third or fourth? Would Gold want to come with her? Sighing, she quickly added her name at the bottom with the perfunctory ‘your loving daughter’ closing. There would be time to discuss visiting Avonlea later.

Just as Belle was folding the letter to seal, there was a knock against the open door. She turned and saw Bae standing there, a book in his hand, and smiled.

“Hello there.”

He stepped into the room cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure he was invited.

“It’s okay, you can come in,” she said, slipping the letter into the drawer of the desk. “If I wanted to keep people out, I would shut the door.”

He gave her a small smile and came closer. “I thought maybe you’d want to read another chapter with me? Jefferson says I should try to finish it by the end of the week because Grace is already done.”

He huffed a little at the end, and Belle thought he seemed a little sad. “Grace?”

“Jefferson’s daughter,” Bae explained, shuffling over to the small sofa. “He gives us both lessons, but she’s smarter than I am and always getting ahead of me.”

“I’d be happy to read some more with you,” Belle said, moving to join him on the lounge. “And don’t worry about being slower than someone else. Everyone goes at their own pace. What matters is that you take your time and learn.”

Bae seemed to think on that for a moment, and then nodded as he opened the book.

* * *

Gold limped down the corridor, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual.

His leg was killing him today, as it often did after too much travel. Though his carriage was fairly large, sitting in one place for too long and not moving made the muscles tight, and it would take another day or so of hot baths and Jefferson’s special tea to get back to normal. The sound of laughter made him smile in spite of his aches, and he moved towards it.

The door to Belle’s drawing room was open, and he knocked on the door frame as he stepped into the space. Bae was sitting at the writing desk and Belle was bent over him, watching whatever it was that he was doing. She looked up, smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, and with the glow of the setting sun beaming in through the windows at her back, it looked like she was light itself, pushing into all the dark corners.

“You didn’t tell me you were the father of a master artist,” she said. Bae glanced up at her, his smile soft and crooked.

Gold came over to the desk and looked down from the other side. Bae had drawn the head of a horse in the middle of the page in black ink, presumably from Belle’s pen. It was quite good for a ten year old, with the mane flowing out behind it as if the beast was in a full gallop.

“It’s supposed to be my horse, Cassidy,” the boy explained. “But the nose isn’t right.”

He frowned, and Belle tsked. “It looks just fine to me.”

“Indeed,” agreed Gold, exchanging a small look with Belle over his son’s head. “I think it looks just like him.”

Bae didn’t seem convinced and shrugged. “It’s not, but thanks.” He moved to crumple up the paper, but Belle stopped him.

“Oh, please don’t do that, it’s lovely!” She slid the paper off the desk and held it in her fingertips. “Would you allow me to keep it? There’s a couple of empty books in my little library, we could start a portfolio.”

Bae scrunched up his face. “What’s a port - portfolio?”

“It’s what all good artists keep their work in so they can show other people.”

He seemed very pleased with that and smiled. “Sure! Can I help you put it in?”

She put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Of course. Come it’s just across the hall.”

Gold felt the same feeling as he had the night before as he watched them walk together to Belle’s book room. Seeing them getting along and even bonding was more than he could have hoped for so soon. Bae hadn’t been very accepting of his plans to marry, and he’d been afraid that the inevitable strife of the early days might harm their future relationship. Of course, he shouldn’t have worried. Belle was a dear, sweet woman that one couldn’t help but find charming. And it certainly didn’t hurt that she was alarmingly pretty, especially when she was so close that he could see the little flecks of gold in the center of her eyes.

He swallowed and straightened, rather abruptly, and tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane as the sudden shifting of his weight made his calf cramp.

Belle turned, frowning. “Are you alright?”

Gold forced a tight smile and nodded. “Yes, I was just, uh, just going to get something in my room.”

He made to leave, but stopped just outside in the hallway. “Would you, um, would you want to join us for dinner this evening?”

“Oh, I think I -”

“Yes, please, Belle?” Bae interrupted. “We could read more of my book after.”

She smiled at Bae, and then looked up to meet Gold’s eyes. Her expression was strange, and Gold got the sense that she wanted to decline, but didn’t want to hurt his son’s feelings. He mentally kicked himself, and was about to come up with an excuse to help her out of it, when she turned to Bae and smiled.

“Of course I would.”

Gold blinked and then nodded. “Yes, um, yes good. We usually eat at six.”

Belle met his gaze again, and he could see her shoulders shifting, tensing, and the bob of her throat as she swallowed. “Good.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle goes for a walk and contemplates her situation, while Gold is called away on kingdom business, and finds out what the rumor mill is saying about his new fie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're finally getting to the bits I've been desperate to write. I promise the story will start moving forward a little faster after this. But only a little. ;) For the 31 Days prompt: family.

Belle walked the grounds of Thornhill until her feet were sore and threatening to blister.

She spent this morning making a few small changes to her rooms. The furniture in her library had been rearranged, with the writing desk moving to the north wall where the light was better in the early hours. She preferred to write her letters in the morning, and wanted the sofa closer to the south windows where the afternoon light would be perfect for reading. The trunks and cases that had been delivered with Astrid were all unpacked, though many of her books were not in proper order yet. They sat in stacks organized by subject on the floor of the library for now, but she was certain she would have them sorted and on the shelves soon.

After that she’d been at a loss as what to do with herself. The weather was a bit warmer, the sun uninhibited by any cloud cover. It had been three days since Astrid arrived, and she seemed to be settling in quite well, while Belle still felt like she was watching everyone else gone on about their lives while she stood on the outside. She had hoped that having her friend with her would make her feel more at home, yet it seemed to have had the opposite effect. Astrid attended her first thing in the morning, and then again in the evening when she took her bath and prepared for bed, but during the day it wasn’t the same as it had been in Avonlea.

She wandered down the lane through the gates that marked the entrance to Thornhill’s grounds, and followed it to the curve of the hilltop where it started to wind down into the little valley. From there she could see the surrounding land, dotted with small farms, and divided in half by a curving river. She hadn’t been able to see the landscape on their way here, and she smiled at the rather picturesque view before heading back to the estate and the gardens that were becoming more well known to her.

Her dinner with Gold and Bae had been fine overall, but the light ease that had come so easily that first day was lost to them now. He had tried to make conversation, but she couldn’t get the harsh sound of his voice out of her head, replaying the way he yelled at Jefferson and wondering what he might say if he ever became cross with her. Instead they focused on Bae which made everything a little lighter and more comfortable. She’d excused herself as soon as the meal was over, and took supper in her room the following night with Astrid.

Gold had had left for King George’s palace on a matter of urgent business early this morning, and expected to be gone for a few days. It disappointed her that she felt relief at his departure, but when he;d told her, mere minutes before he climbed into the carriage, it was the only thing she felt. 

Belle sighed and sat down on the bench by the fountain and rested her head in her hands for a moment. The cool air was a blessing, but soon there would be snow and chilling winds, and they would be forced inside. The thought was suddenly terrifying, and she blew out a slow breath as her stomach turned. Perhaps when Gold returned, she could find a way to speak with him and clear the air. She couldn’t imagine a whole winter cooped up in a house, even one as large as Thornhill, when she was so uncertain about everything.

But talking to Gold was an even more terrifying prospect.

_Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow._

Her mother’s words echoed in her head once more, just as they had on her wedding day a week ago. She looked down at her lap and the ring on her finger. It felt foreign and strange, and she pulled at it until it came off, running her fingertips around the smooth circle.

Gold didn’t seem to want a wife in the way that most men did, and she was grateful for that small favor, but she also wondered if perhaps that was working against them. It was too easy for them to be apart and avoid each other, to skirt any real interaction with meaningless conversation about the weather or his son. Yet there was a part of her that longed for something deeper, for real companionship and someone that could share her life. 

Since her mother had passed, there was a lack of emotional and physical intimacy in her life. Her father had never been the most affectionate person, and while she and Astrid exchanged the occasional hug, there would always be a barrier between them due to their different stations and status. For a long time, since she first discovered her condition, she didn’t believe she could have the kind of relationship that she read about in her favorite books, the kind with passion and love that transcended and transformed everything around it. 

Gold had seemed so kind and gentle, and she’d hoped as she’d never dared to that her marriage could be a good thing beyond financial reasons. Baeden was a sweet boy as well, and a foolish part of her had hoped that the far off dream she’d had of having a family of her own, of having that closeness with another person wasn’t as improbable as it once seemed. Family was one of those foundational things in life that she had always had, her parents, her friends, an aunt on her mother’s side, and a smattering of cousins until she was about ten. After that they dwindled, some marrying and moving away, others succumbing to the inevitability of sickness and age. 

All she had now was her father.

If Gold could open up to her, if they could talk and understand each other as it seemed they might just a short time ago, then she thought maybe they could have something together. A real friendship if nothing else, though there had been a moment or two where the notion of something more wasn’t entirely repulsive to her. He was older, but not so much so that she looked more like his daughter than his wife, and he wasn’t unattractive, physically. Indeed, she rather like his face, especially when he smiled, and he looked very fine in his coats and breeches.

She sighed again, feeling like she could probably use a good cry, but refusing to let herself be so overwhelmed, and made herself stand up. Her feet would need a good soak tonight, and she’d probably end up with a blister on her heel, but being alone and thinking through the jumble of thoughts in her head had helped some. She resolved that when Gold returned, they would talk, but there was still the fear that however that came out would set the tone for the rest of their relationship, and indeed the rest of her life.

* * *

Gold hated being at the palace.

He hated the ostentatious decor, the tedium of formality and ceremony, and most of all he hated that it took him away from home. But such business couldn’t be helped, not when he was essentially the reason George had secured the throne from his brother with the support of the majority of the nobility. He understood his role in keeping the peace and keeping the kingdom running smoothly, but he despised it all the same.

“Don’t look so happy to be here, Gold.”

Gold looked up from his meal and frowned. “I’m sorry if summoning me to the palace urgently when I’ve barely been at home at all in the last week, all because Regina is making a power play against her mother.”

George laughed and dabbed a napkin at his chin before sitting back in his chair. “You think a cat fight among the Mills women is not cause for concern?”

Gold set his fork down and took a sip of wine. “Certainly it is, especially since Regina seems to want to do anything she can to separate herself from Cora, but ultimately this can only be a good thing. You know as well as I do that Cora always had designs on the throne.”

“And you don’t think Regina does?”

He shrugged. “I think Regina wants to be out from under her mother’s thumb. And I suspect that if we were to help that along, it would go a long way towards securing her allegiance for at least the near future.”

“Cora should have married her off and settled down ages ago,” groused the King. Then he snatched up his goblet and drained the wine down his throat with an obnoxious slurping sound.

Gold rolled his eyes and stuck the last bite of ham in his mouth. “Regina doesn’t strike me as the type to let anyone marry her off without her full participation and agreement.”

George chuckled and pushed back from the table. “Unlike your new wife, eh?”

At the mention of Belle, Gold stiffened. Things were odd between them, and he didn’t like leaving Thornhill for so long when he didn’t know where they stood with each other. He wanted to be able to trust her, and let her manage things while he was away, but she seemed distant and uncomfortable. He was glad that she was getting along with Jefferson and Bae, but he wanted there to be some foundation to their relationship as well, as friends perhaps or at the very least partners in a mutual endeavor to care for Bae and his future. The latter wasn’t entirely out of the question, but the former felt like crossing a chasm without a bridge.

He was certain that was entirely down to his having forced her into a marriage.

“My wife,” Gold started, turning his wine goblet around and around by the stem, “was in a precarious situation and I offered her a way out. I didn’t force anyone’s hand into anything.”

“Well, from what I hear, you won’t have to.”

Gold paused and looked up at King George, his jaw tensing. “Excuse me?”

George stood up and motioned for Gold to follow him, which made Gold bristle in annoyance. He also hated being ordered around and being made to feel inferior, which of course the King did at every turn.

“Come now, Gold, you know the situation Maurice has been in,” George said, exiting the dining room and walking the corridor back to his study. “He’s terrible with money, and he’s been mismanaging his lands since Lady Collette died. His only option was marrying off his daughter to the highest bidder.”

Gold’s hand clenched into a fist, both from anger at the way George was speaking of Belle, and at the ache building in his leg. He refused to use a cane in front of the King, and after being in a carriage for several hours, the last thing he wanted was to walk the excessively long halls of the palace.

“I was hardly that,” Gold snapped.

George waved a hand as they entered the study. “No, Gaston was, but you were the obvious runner up after that fell through.”

Gold started to frown as he took a seat across from George. He didn’t know the full story behind what had happened with Belle and Sir Gaston, but he gathered that the end of their engagement was not something Belle mourned in any way.

“What are you saying, your Majesty?”

George reclined, his robes spilling over the ornate, gilded arms of the chair. “It’s obvious isn’t it? Everyone was talking about it at court, if you bothered to show up for more than council meetings you’d know the whole sordid story.”

The King’s mouth curved into a toothy sneer, and Gold dug his short nails into his palm as he fought to keep his composure. “Sordid?”

“She was _desperate,_” George laughed. “Maurice was about to lose everything, Gaston had shown an interest, and she used it to her advantage.”

Gold couldn’t begin to imagine Belle manipulating anyone, much less a knight of the realm, and he wondered how these stories had circulated so widely. Whatever had happened, Gaston must have been angry enough to try to ruin her through rumors and supposition.

“I somehow doubt that,” he said.

“It’s true from what I hear. She tried to get her hands on Sir Gaston’s fortune before they were even married.” George leaned forward, smirking as he spoke as though he was telling a great secret. “She threw herself at him during the spring ball right here in this palace. But of course Gaston found out that he wasn’t the only one, and that she was willing to go to rather _extreme_ lengths to secure a husband.”

Gold swallowed hard. He could read between the lines of court gossip to know what the King was saying, and he couldn’t scarcely believe it. Belle throwing herself at any man seemed absurd. She was too proper for that, too gentle and sweet, though he couldn’t fault her for not wanting anything to do with him. The implication that she had sought other men and tried to manipulate them all in the same of money was patently insane.

“One should not cast such aspersions,” he said, fixing George with a hard stare. His voice was low and even, conveying the seriousness of every word with its tone. “Particularly, when one has also gone to rather _extreme_ lengths to secure their position.”

George sat back at that, and eyed Gold as the unspoken threat hung between them. Gold knew the darkest secrets of the royal house, and had even helped make some of them come into being. Deals and alliances forged in dark corners had been his specialty at one time, and even though he liked to think he’d moved on from such seedy, distasteful things, he wasn’t above using the knowledge when required. If the true parentage of King George’s twin sons ever came out, the kingdom would unravel, and the King knew that it was only by the grace of Gold’s silence that he wielded the power he did.

“I would just be careful if I were you, Gold,” the King said finally. “You don’t really know Lady Belle or Lord Maurice.”

Gold stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back and scraping it over the stone floor. “I know that she’s better that these _rumors_ are making her out to be, and that I’m tired and retiring for the evening.” 

Then he gave George a sharp, half bow and a harsh glare. “Your _Majesty._”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold arrives home from the palace, in a less than pleasant mood, and asks a very important favor of Jefferson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Gold and Belle are going to start getting closer soon, and we're going to get a bit more of Jefferson's backstory as well. For the 31 Days prompt #8: snow.

The trip home from his visit, four days later, did nothing for Gold’s mood.

His leg was killing him, and he longed to stretch out in his own space and drink tea made in his own house. The previous night had seen a chilling rain move through the region, leaving some portions of the road even bumpier than usual, and with an added slickness that made the carriage slow to a crawl at several points. He grumbled about it, but an injured horse was the last thing he needed, so he told himself to stuff his impatience and keep quiet.

Thornhill was a welcome site as they came around the bend, and he sighed. He was not fit company at the moment, but Bae was already out front, waving as the carriage rolled through the gate. Jefferson was next to him, but no one else, and he felt a small tinge of disappointment that Belle wasn’t there as well. No doubt she was glad to be rid of him for the week, and it was just as well, since there was now the matter of sorting out what had gone on between her and her previous fiance, Sir Gaston, that triggered a slew of rumors being spread around the royal court.

The scowl on his face must have conveyed all the information that was needed, because his own son took a step back, suddenly shy and nervous in the presence of his father, and Jefferson was suspiciously reticent.

“Bae,” Gold said tiredly, holding out his arm. Bae came forward and hugged him tight, and he exhaled heavily. “Did you miss me?” Bae shrugged, the corner of his mouth turning up, and Gold bent to kiss the top of his head. “Of course not, probably too busy causing trouble with Moreen and Grace.”

That perked Bae up a bit, and he immediately stepped back, shaking his head and looking affronted. “Nuh-uh, it was Grace who broke the dish, not me!”

Gold raised his eyebrows and shifted his gaze to Jefferson, who hung his head and sighed. The weight on his shoulders lightened a bit as he laughed, and Bae giggled too as wrapped his arms around Gold’s waist again and squeezed. Gold let out a grunt and feigned injury, but he was smiling too wide for it to be believed.

Coming home to his son had always been a balm for his soul, no matter how arduous the journey.

“Sir,” Jefferson said, “There’s a small matter that needs your attention; a letter that’s arrived from Mr. Humbert, but other than the incident with the plate, it’s been quiet.”

“Good,” Gold mumbled, reaching into the carriage to take out his satchel while his cases were unloaded from the back of the carriage. “Have those taken to the laundry. I need to change and freshen up, and then I’ll see you in my library, yes?”

Jefferson gave a short nod and a half bow as Gold strode into the manor.

* * *

A brief wash and a change of clothes made Gold feel marginally better.

Jefferson came to see him after an hour, at which point he’d already read through the letter from Graham Humbert, caretaker of one of his properties to the west, and reviewed the rest of the correspondence that had come in while he was gone.

“So it seems the issues with the orchard are continuing,” Gold said with a sigh as he let the letter fall to the desk.

Jefferson nodded glumly and mirrored him from the sofa near the fireplace. “At this point, we’re not sure what we can do. We may have to let some of it go fallow for the next year and see if it improves.”

Gold frowned. “That will reduce the yield even further. The King will not be pleased.”

“It’s already at a five year low,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “And the King, as you’ve said before, can ‘sod off unless he’s willing to get down in the dirt with the regular people.’”

That earned Jefferson a momentary smirk. “We have extra stores and extra funds, but we may need most of it to get through the winter. They’re still saying it will be one of the worst in a decade.”

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, until Gold stood up. He moved to the fireplace and prodded at the logs as Jefferson watched him thoughtfully.

“Let’s hear it,” Jefferson said, stretching his arms out along the back of the lounge.

Gold frowned over his shoulder and then set the iron poker aside. “Hear what?”

Jefferson gave him an exasperated look. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you. It’s been evident since you returned.”

Gold exhaled and nodded, then moved to sit across from Jefferson in a high backed leather chair where he put his feet up on the ottoman. 

“King George, he - he mentioned Lady Belle’s first engagement.”

Jefferson’s head tilted. They had both known that Belle was supposed to be married to Sir Gaston and that after only two months the whole thing had fallen through, but the particulars had never been divulged. Gold laid out every detail of what the King had said, his hand curling into a tight fist as he recounted the implication that Belle had taken other suitors and perhaps tried to entrap multiple eligible men into marrying her by getting pregnant.

“Ridiculous,” Jefferson said, his usually gentle voice sharpened by derision and irritation. “Lady Belle is far too sweet for any of that nonsense. She doesn’t have a manipulative bone in her body!”

Gold’s fingers tapped against the leather arms, drumming lightly on the brass rivets that went along the sides and front. He wanted to believe Jefferson was right, but something was nagging at him about the whole situation, beyond that his new wife was being talked about at court so distastefully.

“You don’t believe it, do you?” Jefferson sat forward, frowning. “You can’t, it’s - it’s -”

“Undetermined,” Gold finished.

Jefferson sprang to his feet, flipping his long coat out behind him. “_What?_”

Gold raised a hand to settle his friend and stared into the fire. “Something happened between her and Gaston, and now Gaston is spreading lascivious rumors, but -”

“But what?” Jefferson nudged Gold’s feet aside and sat down on the ottoman, facing him. “It bothers you that you don’t know the truth, and you won’t feel like you can trust her until you do?”

He huffed out a breath and closed his eyes before nodding slowly. “I don’t like it, but I can’t shake it.”

“You could ask her you know.” Gold looked up, eyes wide, and Jefferson shook his head. “It’s the simplest solution, and she has a right to know that she’s being slandered.”

“Yes, I’m sure that will go over well.” He looked from Jefferson back to the fireplace. “My Lady would you be so kind as to tell me all the terrible details of how your first engagement was broken and nearly ruined your family for good?”

Jefferson snorted. “Well, I imagined you’d be a little more tactful and eloquent than that, but if you want her to throw a teapot at your head, then so be it.”

Gold swallowed and looked down at his hands as he fiddled with his ring. “You could do it.”

“Pardon?” Jefferson leaned forward and dipped his head to catch Gold’s gaze. “I’m sure you’re joking.”

“You’ve done it before, it’s -”

“No.” Jefferson stood again and crossed his arms. “We agreed that was over. No.”

“Jefferson, please -”

“Cameron!” he hissed.

Jefferson’s eyes were wide and pleading, and Gold felt a pang in his chest. He knew that asking this might damage their friendship forever, but he needed to know the truth if he was going to trust Belle with everything. With his son. More than that, he felt an obligation to protect her reputation, now that he’d participated in sullying it. If there was something in her past that could be used to harm her in the future, and it brought harm to Bae as well, he’d never forgive himself.

“This is for Baeden, not me,” Gold said softly. “I have to know. I don’t want anything to be used against her, and if it’s all bollocks as we think it is, then I want Gaston to pay for whatever he’s done to her.”

Jefferson took a breath and leaned against the mantle, resting his head on his forearm. The heat from the flames warmed his leather boots until they felt like they might melt before he straightened and then turned to Gold.

“Fine,” he said evenly. “But this is absolutely the last time.”

Gold inclined his head. “Agreed.”

“And,” he continued, “Grace gets Hampton House.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened in a soft ‘oh.’ “Making a deal, dearie?” Jefferson’s glare could have stopped a bear in its tracks, and Gold sighed. “Fine, yes.”

Jefferson gave a quick nod and tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “Good.”

His steps were sharp as he walked to the door of the study, and Gold sagged in his chair. “It was going to be hers anyway.”

Jefferson stopped at the door and turned around, meeting Gold’s gaze as he leaned around the side of the chair. “Hampton House. I was going to wait until she was sixteen and sign it over to her. Pretty young girl, with a sharp wit, a house, and an inheritance all her own? She could marry anyone she wanted.”

Gold pushed up and stood to face Jefferson. “I just want my boy safe and cared for, the same as you want for Grace.”

“And Belle?”

Jefferson’s stare was hard, and Gold nodded solemnly. “Her too.”

They seemed to agree on that, and Jefferson left without another word. Gold dropped back into the chair and leaned forward, his face in his hands as he breathed in and out steadily. He hated asking his friend to do such a thing, especially after their shared history, but he needed to know the truth and Jefferson was the only one he trusted to do it discreetly and thoroughly.

With another heavy sigh, he pushed to his feet and rang the bell for the maid. He would take his dinner in his room as he was even less fit for company now than when he arrived.

* * *

Jefferson stewed for two days before he got down to the business of making inquiries about Lady Belle and Sir Gaston’s engagement.

He started by trying to prod Belle into just telling him what had happened, but all his subtle hints went unnoticed, and he was afraid to be more blunt for fear of pushing her away. He had come to respect and care for Belle in a very short time and was happy to consider her a friend. One day he was certain they’d be dear friends, and he was glad that Bae and Grace would have her in their lives. Both children had lost their mothers young, and while he and Gold did they best they could as fathers, he knew having a mother was a different thing entirely. He hoped that Belle might be that for them, the kind, strong, and caring figure they needed later in life.

He did manage to find out that Belle’s mother had also died when she was young, barely passed eleven, and it solidified even more that whatever stories were being told about her were untrue. She was far too good for all of that nonsense, but there was a hint of something in her countenance that was closed to him. He began to understand where Gold’s fear had originated, but he got the sense that whatever it was, it wasn’t known to anyone but herself.

That morning, he sent out letters to a few key contacts at the royal court, making small inquiries after Sir Gaston. He knew the man wasn’t well liked overall, and assumed it would be easy to find where the bodies were buried, hopefully only metaphorically.

He had just finished calculating the staff’s wages for the month, when Belle came into the downstairs study.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, starting to back out of the room.

“No, no, do come in.” He set the ledger book aside and returned the pen to its holder. “I was just finishing up.”

She eased back into the room, and he smiled. Her dress was a delightfully bright and springy yellow with white piping at the edges and a scrolling pattern of pearls around the bodice. The lace around the hem had clearly seen better days, but that was easily remedied. Ms. Potts was an excellent seamstress, as were two of the younger ladies, but he thought that fairly soon, she’d probably have a whole new wardrobe if she wanted it.

“So,” she started, drawing out the ‘oh’ sound, “how are you?”

“I’m well, you?” He moved from the desk to a chair near the window and gestured for her to take the other.

Belle shrugged. “Well, I suppose.”

He frowned. “That’s not very convincing. Would you like to try again?”

She gave a short laugh and then sighed. “I haven’t seen, um, Gold today. Or yesterday. I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me.”

Jefferson sat back, the fingers of his left hand fiddling with the buckle at the top of his boot as he absorbed that bit of information and made a mental note to speak to Gold. “He’s always a bit grumpy when he comes back from the palace, I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“It’s a bit hard not to,” she admitted. “Is he...grumpy often?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Only a little more than everyone else. There’s a lot of...pressure from the King to help keep things in order.”

“Ah.”

Jefferson remained silent for a long moment, but when she didn’t say anything more, he reached for her hand. She startled at bit at his touch, and he gave her a small smile. 

“Are you alright?”

She took a breath, and then pulled her hand away. “I’m fine.”

“Again, not very convincing,” he said, starting to grin. “You would make a terrible actress.”

Belle gave him a momentarily scowl and then shook her head. “I’ve never been good at lying, I couldn’t get away with so much as a muddy shoe print on the rug as a child, and I had no siblings to blame it on.”

Jefferson laughed softly. “I’m afraid that at one time in my life, lying was as easy to me as breathing.” Belle frowned at him and he sighed. “That, I am happy to say, is all behind me.”

She smiled and rested her hand on his, giving it a light squeeze, and he felt his stomach sink. Lying was still entirely too easy for him, it was just that he actually felt the effects of it now, the guilt of it all burning its way through his soul. He reminded himself that this was better for all of them in the long run.

“The other day,” she began, “last week, actually, when - when we met in the garden?”

Jefferson swallowed. “Yes?”

“I, um - well, before that, I came out of my room and I heard - I heard you and - and Lord Gold.”

He blinked and something clicked into place as she nibbled on her bottom lip. He and Gold had one of their spirited arguments that everyone at Thornhill was more than used to, but it occurred to him that someone new such as Belle wouldn’t know the kind of relationship he had with his friend and employer. She wouldn’t understand that Gold’s snappishness and sarcasm was well matched with his own, and that there was never any offense meant. He’d only been trying to coax Gold into being honest with Belle about his situation and Bae’s, which he’d given up on for now.

“Ah,” he said finally. “Well, that explains things.”

Her head tilted. “I don’t understand. He was so -”

“Loud?” he offered. “Abrasive? Rude?”

Belle shifted in her seat. “Um…”

Jefferson chuckled. “All three?” She gave him a sideways look and then nodded. “Oh, darling, don’t mind him. We’ve always been like that with each other, and truly there is no offense meant or taken. I was pushing him to do something, and he was pushing back, that’s all.”

She seemed uncertain and began to pick at a loose thread on her skirt. “Oh. Well, I’m sorry I overheard.”

“Did it...scare you?” he asked, sitting forward.

“A bit, maybe.” She looked out the window and then back to him. “I barely know him, and I didn’t know what to think.”

His look was soft and sympathetic, and he reached for her hand, pressing it between both of his. “His bark is far worse than his bite, that I can promise you. He’s like an old toothless dog.”

That made her laugh, and he grinned, basking in the lovely sound. Lady Belle of Avonlea was truly a gem, and he knew that once they dealt with this nasty business with Gaston, that all would be well.

“I was actually looking for him earlier,” she said. “I was hoping we could - we could talk.”

He patted the back of her hand and agreed. “Yes, I think that would be a very good idea.

* * *

Belle leaned her forehead against the cold glass, watching as the little puffs of breath from her nose fogged the window.

What Jefferson had said about his relationship with Gold seemed truthful, and she felt better having said something about what she heard, even if it she had yet to broach the subject with Gold. Since he’d returned from King George’s palace, he’d been keeping to himself and the few times she tried to seek him out, he seemed to be well secluded somewhere in the house.

Jefferson insisted that if she was honest with Gold, he would be honest with her, and while she had no reason to doubt it, the thought of confronting Lord Cameron Gold about anything seemed daunting.

_Do the brave thing,_ her mother’s voice echoed.

She let out a heavy sigh, obscuring the view momentarily. At the bottom of the window, snow had begun to accumulate, and she shivered before turning away from the window to draw the curtains.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With winter nearly upon them, Belle decides to take one last walk in the garden where the opportunity presents itself to clear the air with Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I cannot believe I got this done. Sorry it's so short, but today was bananas. I barely had a chance to read this over before posting, so my apologies for the 754 typos that I'm sure there are that I'm not seeing. Please point them out in the comments or message me. For the 31 Days prompt #11: peace.

Belle awoke early the next morning to Thornhill bustling with activity.

The snowfall amounted to no more than a dusting, lightly covering every surface. Winter was most definitely on its way, and everyone was anxious to finish preparations. There were outbuildings that need last minute repairs and boarding up, food stores for the animals that needed to be moved into the stables, and extra wood needed to be chopped and stacked for the fireplaces. Inside, the maids were switching out the lighter window curtains for darker, heavier fabrics that would help keep out the drafts and the cold that seemed to radiate from the glass when it frosted over.

Belle took breakfast in her room, and then dressed in her favorite winter dress, a red wool blend that laced up the front, with a light gray blouse underneath. She dug her wool stockings out of one of the unpacked trunks, and wore them with her knee high boots. There was a matching red and silver cloak in a double layer wool that would keep her comfortable enough for a walk in the garden, probably her last of the season.

The sun was warm on her face and she tipped her face up, smiling, as she stepped off the stone patio into the cold, dry grass. It crunched lightly beneath her boots, and she looked around, marveling at how the landscape had changed in such a short time. Snow had settled in all the nooks and crannies of the trees and plants, making the colors of the few remaining flowers even more vibrant, and she wished she had thought to bring a pair of sheers with her so she could trim a few of the roses.

She came up to the fountain, which was now shut off for the winter to keep it from freezing, and stopped abruptly. Gold was seated at one end of the bench, his right leg stretched out and propped up on the heel of his boot. He was bent over and seemed to be rubbing at his knee, and she wondered if he’d slipped somehow and hurt himself. She hadn’t planned out what she wanted to say to him yet, but then he was turning and looking at her with a surprised expression.

“Belle,” he said, straightening.

His gaze was soft and his lips were very slightly curved, and it struck her that he looked almost as he did when she’d walked into the garden at Avonlea for their wedding. 

The memory made her smile and she stepped up to peek into the fountain, finding it dry and with the same light covering of snow as everything else. “Hello.”

“What brings you out here?”

She shrugged and moved to sit beside him, her hands tucked into the inner pockets of her cloak. “Just thought I would get in one last stroll before it’s all buried under snow and ice.” He nodded at that, looking down at his boots, and she licked her lips before asking, “What about you?”

“Oh, I just needed some air,” he replied, giving her a quick glance. “And I needed to get out of the noise of the house for a few minutes.”

She smiled in understanding, having felt her nerves unsettled by frenetic energy with the walls of the manor. “There is an awful lot going on today.”

“Yes,” Gold agreed. “There’s always so much to do and it always seems to wait until the last minute.”

Belle sighed. “I think sometimes we’re in denial about winter until that first snow, and then there’s something of a mad panic to prepare, and everyone tries to do two weeks worth of work in two days.”

He chuckled. “And yet every year we swear we won’t wait so long the next year.”

She grinned and ducked her head. “It seems to be the way of things doesn’t it, almost a tradition.”

“Indeed.” He rubbed at his knee again and then shifted in his seat.

“Is - is your leg alright?” she asked, finally. Gold turned to look at her, his eyes moving over her face, and she felt uncomfortably scrutinized. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

His head tilted slightly, and the corner of his mouth curved. “I don’t mind at all, and it’s - fine, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Her eyebrows lifted, and he shrugged. “And old injury of sorts, it comes and goes, and doesn’t take kindly to being cramped in a carriage for too long.”

Belle frowned and reached for his hand on impulse, covering it with hers and giving it a light squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

His hand felt startlingly warm for his having been outside so long, but then she was also one of those people who felt the cold more acutely than others. Perhaps he just ran hot, like her father.

Gold looked down at her hand, almost surprised to see it there and even more so to feel the gentle gesture of comfort when she held it tight. He swallowed and licked at his lips. “It’s no matter,” he managed, his gaze moving up to meet hers.

Abruptly, she pulled her hand away and he missed the contact immediately.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, turning away from Gold. 

She knew what she needed to ask, but the words were sticking on her tongue. She hated this awkwardness between them, and feeling so unsettled in the place that was to be her home for the rest of her life. It was impossible to live this way, wandering aimlessly with no purpose, always being on the outside. Despite how much she was coming to like Baeden, Jefferson, and Grace, it wasn’t enough, and with nothing to ground her she feared that by the end of the winter she’d become the crazy woman who kept to her room all day and forgot to wash her hair. The breath she inhaled was shaky and she pressed a hand to her mouth, letting her eyes close for a moment as she tried to calm herself.

Gold heard her distress and shifted closer, cautiously inching his hand towards her. “Belle?”

She sniffled and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” he said, gently resting his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you - are you not happy here?”

Belle turned around, surreptitiously brushing her fingertips at the corner of her eye where there was the barest hint of a tear. “I don’t know what I am.” He frowned, and she sighed heavily, running her hand over her hair and smoothing back a strand that had sprung free of the clip at the back of her head.

“I thought - I mean - I don’t know what I mean.” Her eyes closed for a moment, and Gold gave her shoulder the same reassuring squeeze that she’d given his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this.”

“It’s no matter.”

She let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “You keep saying that, but it does matter. I know you don’t want a wife, not really, and that’s fine - more than fine, really - but I had hoped that we might - become friends?”

Gold gave her a small smile. “I’d like that very much.”

She twisted all the way around to face him, and took his hand in hers, sighing as the warmth seeped into her chilled fingers. “Then - then you have to let me know you, right?”

He sighed. “Belle, I - I don’t know how to do this. I’m not - I’m not good at - at people. Jefferson is basically my only friend, and even on my best day I’m a grumpy bastard.”

She let out a little laugh, and looked down at their joined hands. “I think you’re better than you give yourself credit for.”

“Am I?” His voice was flat, and his expression was doubtful when she looked up. It made her laugh more, and he rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s helping, thank you.”

Belle collected herself after a moment, and when she met Gold’s gaze he was smiling, the lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He was as amiable as he was the day they met, and he seemed to have the same trouble that she did sometimes with being brave enough to say what needed to be said. Knowing that made her feel instantly better about the situation, and she silently resolved not to let it happen again if she could help it, even if she had to barge into his private study and make him talk to her. The thought of being able to do such a thing, however, made her cheeks heat.

She felt lighter already, and she trusted that Jefferson had been truthful with her. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant.”

He shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’m sure it’s difficult moving away from home, and having to deal with not only living in a whole new place, but with people you don’t know.”

“But I want to know them,” she said, lifting their hands and letting them drop back in her lap. “And you don’t need to apologize either. You saved my home. Without the deal you made with my father, it would have been bankrupt, and then I’d have no home at all.”

Her eyes teared up at the edges, shining in the sunlight, and his breath caught. She looked perfectly happy and terribly sad at the same time, and utterly beautiful besides. For a long moment, he stared at her eyes, watching as they brightened, and when she blinked and sent a single drop trickling down her cheek, he reached up almost unconsciously and caught it with his thumb.

Belle stopped breathing as Gold brushed her tear away, the touch so tender and light that it wasn’t there at all. “Thank you.”

Her voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her, and all he could do was shake his head, hoping she knew that it wasn’t necessary. If anything he should have been thanking her for making the best of a situation he’d put her in, against her will, and then going to all the trouble of trying to make the best of it. She was far too good of a person for the likes of him.

He was at a loss for what to say, when a stiff, chilling wind swirled through the garden. Belle shivered, and he stood up, offering her his arm. 

“Shall we head back to the house?”

“We probably should, yes,” she agreed, and slipped her arm through his. The warmth of him even though her cloak made her want to lean on him the whole way back, but she was mindful of his leg.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said as they came up to the edge of the patio and the doors into the drawing room. “I just need to find the right things to occupy me.”

“Like your books?” he asked, grinning crookedly as he nudged her side. “Or maybe _my_ books?”

She bumped her arm against him in return, accepting his goodnatured teasing with a bemused smile. “_Perhaps..._”

They entered the house as Gold was still contemplating her words. It occurred to him, sadly for the first time, that in his effort to make sure she would want for nothing at Thornhill, that she lacked a purpose in the daily affairs of the house. At Avonlea she had helped organize the household and staff, and plan events. But here all that was done for her. A thought was forming in his mind, and though he wouldn’t be able to fully execute it until the spring, it already made him smile. He hoped that Belle would be amenable to it, and if she was, it would give her more than enough to do.

* * *

That evening, they gathered in the music room because it had less windows that their favorite drawing room, and two fireplaces besides. The space was large but it felt warm and cozy, almost intimate. Jefferson had decided to play a little tune on the piano, while Bae and Grace danced around. After a little bit, Belle joined them, and the three of them danced in a circle around the piano, then across the room to loop around Gold’s chair, and back again.

Gold sipped at a glass of brandy, grateful that the pain in his leg had faded before dinner, but returned with a vengeance an hour or so ago. The alcohol dulled it somewhat, but shortly he would need to retreat to his room and a hot bath. For now, he felt more at peace than he had in ages, and as he watched Belle tip her head back and laugh, he dared to hope that this winter might be brighter and warmer than usual.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Belle have a little moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am me and I will write every possible version of this scene in every possible fic forever. Sorry this is so short. Christmas program at school and other activities limited my writing time so I had to bump some things to the next chapter. :( For the 31 Days prompt #12: tea

Gold took a sip of his tea and glared at Jefferson over the rim of the cup.

"All I am asking is that you consider it," Jefferson said. "It's been years since you've seen anyone, and -"

Gold set his cup down, frowning. "What good will it do? They either won't understand my situation, or they will confirm what we already know to be true." He stared at a spot on the tablecloth for a long moment and then sighed. "Or worse, they'll know it for what it is, and after that, the entire kingdom will as well. You know too well what will happen next."

Jefferson nodded and slumped down in a chair on the other side of the table as Gold took another drink. He made a face at the bitterness and gave the cup a suspicious look.

"Needs more sugar," he said, reaching for the small, covered bowl.

"Yes, well, I had to make it stronger. _Again._"

Gold glanced up at Jefferson before adding a larger than usual scoop of sugar to his cup. "I will be fine in a few days, then we can go back to normal."

He rubbed at his leg absently, and Jefferson shook his head. Gold was entirely too strong willed, which meant he wasn't about to do anything that wasn't his idea, even when it was in his own best interest. His leg had been troubling him since he returned from the palace, well over a week ago, and Jefferson didn’t dare make the specially brewed tea too strong. Gold’s tolerance had grown over the years, but dulling the pain didn’t solve the problem.

“If it’s not better by next week, then -”

Gold sighed again and set down his empty tea cup. “Then I’ll see the physician, this Dr. Whale, or whoever he is.”

“Thank you,” Jefferson said, gratefully. Then he stood and gathered up the tea set, pausing to give Gold’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “I hope it’s better, and you can tell me I told you so.”

Gold smiled up at him and nodded. “I’m sure it will be.”

They’d been fortunate that it hadn’t snowed again, and even warmed up for a day or two, allowing more of the outside work to get done, and more firewood and coal to be stockpiled. It also meant that Gold and Belle had been spending more time together, taking walks together around the grounds, which let him tell her all the stories of his efforts to refurbish Thornhill after he was gifted it by the King. The whole place had fallen into disrepair after years of being unoccupied, and the surrounding land had been left to grow wild. Even the farmland that bordered the estate was ill used and infested with all manner of ground vermin.

He’d spent a great deal of time restoring it, living in an empty tenant house down the road until it was finished, and then immediately started work on the grounds. The name of the estate, Thornhill, had come from the myriad rose bushes, thorny shrubs, and briars that grew on the land and in the nearby woods. The people who farmed the land in and around this particularly county had started calling it that as a joke, but Gold being the stubborn bastard that he was, kept it as a homage to what it once was and would never be again if he had anything to say about it.

Belle had listened with rapt attention, marveling at how beautiful everything had turned out. She even agreed that keeping the name was perfect, and the way she’d beamed up at him, the corners of her eyes wrinkled with amusement, made him forget what he was going to say. Every time they parted, whether it was because he needed to see to some business, or in the evenings when it was time to retire for the night, left him feeling strange. It used to be that he was thankful for the last quiet hour or two of the day, when it was just him and his thoughts.

Now those hours seemed almost lonely, and the snap of the fireplace was too loud in the room without the soft chatter of Bae and Belle going on in the background.

Gold sighed and pushed back from the table to stand up. Now that the tea was working, the pain had subsided, and he could walk without leaning on his cane like an old man. He lifted his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it on, pausing when he noticed that Jefferson had left one of the tea cups behind. He rolled his eyes, and picked it up, deciding that he would drop it by the kitchen before he was forced to close himself in his study and finish the monthly ledgers.

He walked to the door of the drawing room, reaching for the handle, but it opened without him touching it, and then immediately after Belle walked straight into his chest. They both staggered backwards, eyes wide and hands raised, and Gold had to catch himself with a hand on the wall to keep from falling over.

“Oh!” Belle exclaimed, stumbling as her left shoe came part way off. “I’m so sorry!”

Gold shook his head and pressed a hand to his chest where his heart was pounding harder than it had in some time. “It’s no matter. Are you alright?”

She wiggled her foot back into her shoe and nodded. “Yes, yes I’m fine.” Then she looked down at the floor between them and her face fell. “But I’m afraid your cup isn’t.”

He watched as she bent down and picked it up, confused until she straightened and held it up with both hands, her lips turned down in a small pout. “It’s chipped.”

Gold stepped closer and took her hands in his, holding them as he examined the damage to the tea cup. There was a small notch in the middle of the rim on one side, noticeable only because the chip disrupted the thin blue line that encircled it.

“You can hardly see it,” he said, meeting her eyes. She looked like a child who’d been caught doing something naughty, and she was looking at him as though he was meant to chastise her. His head tilted as he smiled at her. “It’s just a cup.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said, taking the cup from her hands. “There’s at least twenty sets in this house, we’ve cups to spare.”

She exhaled, relieved, and reached out to brush her finger over the chipped spot. “I suppose now it has character.”

“Sort of like its owner?” He grinned.

Belle gave him a look and then laughed. “Well, if you’re chipped it’s hardly my fault. I didn’t knock you to the floor.”

“No, I’m afraid that happened ages ago.” Then he sighed lightly. “If you’ll excuse me I need to return this to the kitchen.”

She followed him out of the room, and walked with him down the corridor towards the kitchen. “I was wondering if you might show me the stables today?”

Gold’s lips curved crookedly. “I would be delighted, but I’m afraid I have some work that needs attention first. Shall I come find you in the library after lunch?”

“How do you know I’ll be there?” Her eyebrows lifted, and he gave her a look that made her erupt in a delightful giggle, her blue eyes flashing brightly. “Yes, after lunch will be fine.”

He was grinning widely at her as she turned, brushing against him in the narrow space, and he reached out to touch the wall, feeling as though he might fall over again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle comforts an unhappy Bae, and receives a letter from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the eleventh hour, literally. I swear I'm going to catch up this weekend. Ugh. I had such plans for this chapter and half of them didn't happen. For the 31 Days prompt #13: sweets.

“I told you so.”

Jefferson let out a withering sigh, and rolled his head back until he was looking up at the ceiling. “Who could have foreseen this turn of events.” 

His flat voice made Gold frown. “You could be a little less disappointed that I’m not in pain.”

It had been two days since Jefferson had nagged Gold into agreeing to see Dr. Whale. While he was truly glad that his friend wasn’t in pain, and for the time being seemed not only well, but in a suspiciously good mood, he nevertheless felt that it was still prudent to see a physician. He said as much and received another scowl.

“Why would I bother with that?” Gold asked. Then he set his empty tea cup on its saucer and leaned back in his chair. “We agreed we’d give it a week, and in much less than that, I’m right as rain.”

He slapped his right leg as if to emphasize just how healed he was, and then stood up without the use of his cane. “See?”

Jefferson shook his head and moved the used tea cups onto the tray. The second cup he picked up had a tiny chip in the rim and he frowned at it. “What happened to this one?”

Gold’s face shifted strangely, and he looked away, towards the doors out to the garden. “Something must have fallen on it or something. Probably one of the kitchen staff being careless.”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed, but he decided not to press the issue. “Right...”

“So,” he said a moment later. “I guess I’ll need to send word to Dr. Whale that we won’t be needing him until next month when this happens all over again.”

Gold turned around and huffed. “_Jefferson,_ let’s -”

“All we are accomplishing, _Cameron_,” he interrupted, “is bidding our time. Your condition isn’t going to change, you know this, it’s the whole reason Lady Belle is even here!”

“Why is Belle here?”

Baeden’s voice made both men still for a long moment. Jefferson’s mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say, before he looked desperately at Gold, who looked like he was about to faint.

“You’re still sick, aren’t you,” the boy said. “You said you got better after you took the medicine in your tea.”

“Bae,” Gold started, “it’s alright, son. I’m not -”

“You _lied!_” 

Bae’s face tensed and his eyes welled up, the tears spilling over as soon as he blinked. Gold went to him immediately, reaching out to hold him, but the young boy turned away and hurried back through the door. By the time Gold got there, his rapid footfalls could be heard at the far end of the corridor.

* * *

The library was Baeden’s favorite place to hide.

It was a dark, warm room that smelled of leather and paper, and had the perfect amount of nooks and crannies that a small child could tuck themselves into when they didn’t want to be noticed. The window seat was always cozy, even in the winter, and the leather sofa by the fireplace was big enough that his legs barely hung over the edge.

He pushed the door open slowly, and then closed it carefully, not wanting to slam it and alert his father or Jefferson to where he’d gone, though he doubted either of them were following. They knew he didn’t like to cry in front of anyone, and they usually let him sort himself out and calm down before they talked about whatever had happened. But this time he wasn’t sure that calming down or talking would help. 

Papa had lied to him.

The one thing his father had always said if he had nothing else, he had his word, and so he must always be honest. If he was honest, and owned up to his mistakes, he didn’t get in trouble. Well, not too much trouble.

He knew Papa had been sick when he was little, but then he had gone to a doctor way far away on the other side of the kingdom, and when he came back he was all better. He had to take some medicine for a while, but he promised that everything would be alright. Except he hadn’t stopped taking the medicine, and Jefferson thought he should see a doctor again.

Bae sniffled and wandered over to flop down on the sofa, curling onto his side to stare at the fire.

“Are you alright?”

Belle’s soft voice made him sit up. He hadn’t noticed anyone else was in here, but he hadn’t actually looked around either.

“No,” he replied, rubbing his hand against his cheek.

Belle closed her book over her finger to mark her place, and climbed out of the window seat. She crossed the room to the sofa and sat down at the opposite end, giving the boy some space. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffled again and shook his head.

“You don’t want to tell me?” she asked carefully. He shook his head again, and she set her book aside. “That’s alright, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Bae turned around until he was facing her. His face hurt and his eyes stung, but he had calmed down significantly.

Belle raised one arm and gave him a small smile. “Hug?”

Bae immediately slid across the leather cushions to her side, sighing deeply as she wrapped her arm around him. He rested against her for a minute or so, and then sat up.

“Was it a thing or a person who upset you?”

He took a breath and said, “It was Papa and Jefferson.”

She frowned and took his hand. “Well, I’m sure they didn’t mean it. They both love you very much.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing at his eye, “but they lie and don’t tell me things.”

Belle bit her lip. “I’m sorry that happened. What didn’t they tell you?”

Bae wiggled a bit next to her and then leaned against her side again. “Papa isn’t feeling well, and he doesn’t want me to worry, but I’m not a baby!”

“No, you’re not,” she agreed.

The conviction in Bae’s voice made her take him at his word, but apart from whatever injury had given Gold his limp and the occasional pain in his leg, he appeared fine. He admitted to her that long trips and not being able to stretch his muscles made it worse, which she had seen with her own father as he aged, though Gold wasn’t nearly that old. But it made her wonder if there was more too it, and if that was part of why he didn’t seem to actually want a wife as a wife despite marrying her.

“How about...we go to the kitchen, and see if Ms. Potts has any of those little cakes left?”

Bae brightened a little at that, and she felt a wave of relief. For now, plying the boy with sweets was sufficient to distract him from his troubles, but she knew that eventually she’d have to figure out a better strategy than that, lest Gold start wondering why his son had outgrown all his clothes a season early.

“Can we have cocoa with them?’

Her eyes widened and she smiled. “Hot cocoa?” Bae nodded, and she laughed softly. “I think that is a fantastic idea!”

* * *

Dinner was an awkward but civil affair.

Neither Gold or Jefferson seemed to know to that Bae had talked to her, or that he had let slip something about Gold’s health, but she didn’t feel right bringing it up. She was afraid it would introduce more strife or cause a setback in the friendship she was building with Gold. It was, quite selfishly, the latter that held her back more than the former, for she couldn’t imagine father and son being at odds for very long. But Gold finding out that she had interfered could damage the tentative comfort they had between them, and she was loathe to return to the days of unsettling distance and discontent.

She retired to her room early, after a late even messenger arrived from Avonlea bearing her father’s seal. She had written him two letters in the weeks she had been at Thornhill, without a reply, and had begun to worry that there was a problem with the post. Sitting on the lounge by the fireplace, she read through her father’s words twice, frowning more and more as each line passed her eyes.

It wasn’t so much what he said as what he appeared not to say, and she had the unsettling sense that all was not well. She wasn’t sure if it was everything that had happened with Bae, and the possible mystery of Gold’s illness putting the thoughts in her head, but as she folded the letter closed the most powerful urge to welled up in her, urging her to return home. Gold had indicated he was more than agreeable to visiting Avonlea, but it had been barely a month since she had left.

A knock at her door startled Belle from her thoughts, and she quickly stored the letter in the table by her bed before opening it.

“Cameron.”

The name still felt odd on her tongue, but she was once again determined to get used to it.

“Belle,” he replied softly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I - I wanted to thank you.”

Her head tilted. “You’re very welcome, but I’m afraid I know not what for.”

He smiled, and she stepped back, beckoning him into the room. It was the first time he’d been here since the night she arrived, and something about that made her take a steadying breath.

“I wanted to thank you for speaking with my son earlier.”

She frowned slightly. “Um...”

He waved a hand and gestured for her to sit, and they took up positions at opposite ends of the sofa. “We talked before he went to bed. I wanted to apologize to him, and he told me everything.”

Her hands curled over her skirt as she bit her lip. “Everything?”

Gold nodded. “That he was upset, that he went to the library, where he doesn’t think we know he hides, and that you calmed him down.”

“Oh,” she breathed, both relieved and confused that Bae had left out the part where he shared the news about Gold. “Please, don’t worry about it. It was nothing, really.”

“It was not nothing,” he insisted, reaching over to rest his hand on hers. “He likes and trusts you, and that is most certainly not nothing.”

She gave him a small smile, feeling the telltale sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, and stood up abruptly, turning away and she feigned a yawn. “I’m so sorry.”

Gold seemed to shake himself before rising as well. “Are you alright? Was your father well?”

Belle sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“How do you mean?” 

She turned around and rubbed at her temple. The day and all her thoughts were weighing on her and if she didn’t get to bed soon she would likely end up with a mighty headache.

“Belle?” His soft voice coaxed her into replying.

“He didn’t say he was well,” she explained, though it sounded more ridiculous once she said it out loud. “He said everything _except_ that, and it was just - _oh,_ I’m being silly.”

His hand moved and found hers. “You’re not. If you feel unsettled about the matter, then you should find out for yourself whether all is well.” She frowned, and his mouth curved slightly. “You should visit.”

“I should?”

Gold smiled fully. “Maybe we all should.”

“We?”

He laughed and let go of her hand. “If you’d rather go along, that’s fine, I was only thinking that it would be good for Bae to get out for a bit before the heavy snows fall. His birthday is next week, but we could go the day after and still be back by the solstice.”

Belle’s mouth hung open for a moment before she snapped it shut and shook her head. “No, that’s - that sounds perfect. I shall write to him first thing in the morning and let him know.”

“Good,” he said, looking rather pleased. “Good.”

She watched him cross to the door, walking without any hint of a limp or aid of a cane, and wondered if Bae had fully understood what was being said.

Gold turned to face her and bowed at the waist. “Goodnight, Belle.”

She smiled and inclined her head in return. “Goodnight.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bae has a birthday, and travel plans are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shortness of this chapter and also the typos. I spent too much time today finishing up my Rumbelle gifs through Christmas. :) The next chapter will be much longer to make up for it. For the 31 Days prompt #14: celebrate.

“Apple!”

Gold blinked. “Apple?”

Baeden beamed up at his father from his spot on the floor and nodded. “Apple. Moreen and I shook on it.”

Belle bit her lip as she smiled, and met Gold’s baffled gaze over the head of his son who was repeatedly stroking the back of the orange tabby in his lap. Said tabby was apparently named Apple, quite officially, and Belle was utterly delighted by the entire thing, including Gold’s puzzlement.

Baeden had been talking about this particular kitten since shortly after they were all named. It was clearly his favorite, and after a short discussion with Moreen’s mother, Gold had purchased the cat for two silver coins and a few rose clippings. Apple’s mother was an excellent mouser so there was the hope that the cat would eventually earn her keep in the winter months. Even if she proved to be a terrible hunter, she was a welcome addition to the household for the pure joy that she’d brought to his son’s face.

Jefferson laughed and shook his head. “It’s a fine name, Bae, don’t let your Papa let you otherwise.”

Gold sat back in his chair and waved a hand. “She’s your cat, son, you can call her whatever you like, but it’s not my fault if Ms. Potts starts tossing apples at your head every time you go around yelling for Apple.”

Grace gave him a doubtful look. “Ms. Potts isn’t that stupid.”

Belle reached over from her position on the end of the sofa and patted Gold’s hand. “I think Ms. Potts will very quickly learn the difference, and if she doesn’t, we’ll have lots of extra cider.”

Gold gave her a look, the corners of his mouth curving slightly. “I can tell _that_ idea disappoints you.”

She pretended to look affronted, and stood abruptly, marching over to the desk under the window to retrieve a package wrapped in paper and tied with a red ribbon. Gold watched her as she went, momentarily confused.

She turned around, pivoting on her heel and making her skirt flare, and held the package up. “Happy Birthday!”

Baeden looked at her in surprise as the kitten wrapped her paws around his arm and attempted to bite his wrist. “For me?”

“It’s no one else’s birthday, silly,” Grace said, shoving at Bae’s shoulder.

Belle smiled at them both and held the package out for Bae to take. “Yes, of course it’s for you.”

“You needn’t have done that,” Gold said softly as she returned to her seat.

“Hush,” she replied, turning her smile to Gold as Bae grabbed and tore the paper straight down the front, scaring the kitten who jumped towards Jefferson. “I wanted to.”

The boy gasped, and all their gazes shifted back to him. “It’s - a book.” 

“It’s pretty,” added Grace, leaning over touch the cover.

It was wider than it was tall and bound in a dark green leather, more like a ledger for keeping accounts than a book for reading. Bae opened it and flipped the pages, finding them blank. He looked up and pulled a face, which made Jefferson laugh.

“It’s for drawing,” he explained, looking to Belle to confirm his assumption. 

Belle nodded and reached down to brush her fingertips against the kitten’s soft fur. “It’s so you can keep your pictures all in one place.”

He looked back down at the empty paper, heavier in weight than a printed book, and ran his hand over it lightly, his fingers tracing imaginary lines. “Like a - a portfolio?”

He met her eyes again, and she nodded. “Exactly. And I hope that once you have filled a few pages you’ll me have a look?”

Bae set the book aside and got up, scrambling to his feet. He came over to Belle and threw his arms around her neck, knocking her back against the sofa.

“Thank you.”

His voice was muffled in her hair, and she pressed her lips together as she returned his affection. “I’m glad you like it.”

She exchanged a look with Gold, who appeared to be on the verge of tears, and gave him a wobbly smile as well. Then Bae let go and went to his Papa, giving him a large hug as well. Gold pulled the boy up, grunting exaggeratedly under his weight.

“Happy Birthday, son.”

“This is the best birthday, right Apple?”

Bae slid back down to the floor and held out his hand towards the kitten who had taken a deep interest in the laces of Jefferson’s boots. She opened her little mouth as wide as she could, baring her tiny teeth, but only succeeded in letting out the quietest mew. 

Gold snorted and shook his head. “Not very imposing is she.”

“She’ll grow into it,” Jefferson said, bending down to let the kitten sniff at his fingers.

Grace grinned and bent down until she was eye to eye with the animal. “She’s very ferocious.”

Gold leaned over towards Belle as the children become occupied with the cat, and asked quietly, “Are you ready for our trip tomorrow?”

“I think so,” she replied, watching the kitten play between the children and Jefferson. “Are you?”

He gave a short nod. “There’s some last minute things I’ll need to take care of in the morning, but we can leave soon after breakfast if you’re agreeable?”

She took a breath and nodded, wondering at the idea of visiting the place she’d once called home. “Yes, early is best. We’ll arrive before supper, and hopefully I’ll have time to speak with my father and settle things.”

“I hope so as well,” Gold said. Then he turned to Bae. “I think that’s enough celebration for one evening. We have quite a journey tomorrow.”

Jefferson pushed to his feet and clapped his hands. “Right, time for bed. Kittens and children upstairs!”

Bae groused a bit, but gathered up his new kitten and his book, and trailed after Jefferson and Grace, leaving Gold and Belle alone.

“Will you be bringing back anymore of your things?” He asked, crossing the room to pour himself a glass of brandy.

Belle laid back on the sofa and shook her head when Gold gestured with his glass to ask if she would also like some. “I’m not sure. I have enough clothes and books here, but I’ll have to see what might be left there. Some of it I haven’t missed so I’m not sure I really need it.”

He nodded and came to sit near her at the other end of the sofa. “You should have some new things as well.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m sure I’ll acquire plenty, and fill up all my rooms until I overflow into the halls.”

He laughed and sipped at his drink. “You can have the whole of the north wing if you like, there’s a number of unused rooms.”

She smiled. “Are you trying to send me far far away from you?”

He picked up on her teasing, and smirked as he gave her a sideways glance. “It would save you from Bae’s snoring.” 

She laughed, and let herself fall back against the sofa. “I’m sure he’s not _that_ bad.”

“Say that after he falls asleep next to you and it sounds like a bear growling in your ear.” His tone seemed deadly serious, but his lips were twitching at a smile.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s too sweet of a boy for that.”

“If only that were also true.” They exchanged a grin, and then Gold sighed, his gaze drifting to the fireplace. “If your father isn’t well - if...if you’d like to stay -”

Belle frowned. “Stay? In Avonlea?”

He shrugged. “If you like. I’m sure your father would like to have you stay for a while. I can send a carriage for you when you’re ready to come back.”

There was something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t sure if she would, and she sat forward on the sofa, twisting to face him.

“Cameron.” She stopped and waiting for him to look at her. “I know what you’re trying to do, or at least I think I know, and I appreciate it, but -” 

“Belle,” he interrupted. “Please, don’t misunderstand me, I only meant that - that I understand everything has happened a bit faster than you might have liked. And that’s my fault.”

She frowned again. “How do you mean?”

“I am afraid that I tend towards expediency,” he said, downing the last of his brandy before continuing. “I didn’t give you much time to decide anything, or to plan how to pick up your life and move somewhere else, and I recognize how imprudent that was.”

She reached for his hand immediately, almost startling him with her movement. “My place is here,” she said firmly. “My departure might have been a bit abrupt, but unless my father is truly gravely ill, or there is some matter that needs my attention, I have no plans to linger in Avonlea.”

Gold seemed uncertain of how to take her declaration, but he nodded in reply. “I think it’s time we sent ourselves to bed.”

She let go of his hand and glanced towards the clock on the far wall, the brass pendulum swinging rhythmically. “Indeed it is. I’m sure morning will come faster than we expect.”

“It always does,” he said cryptically. 

Then he stood and offered his arm to her, which she took, and they walked quietly together until they arrived at the junction of the two hallways. As had become customary of late, they wished each other goodnight, and went in opposite directions.


	13. Chapter 13

Belle sat back on the bed in her old room and sighed.

The trip from Thornhill to Avonlea seemed to take less time than the reverse trip had just six weeks ago. The landscape was blanketed in snow of varying thickness, and passing through the forest in the daytime, with the sunlight glittered off the ice on the tree branches, was quite enjoyable. She hadn’t had the chance to appreciate all the beauty during the first trip, as much of it had passed in near darkness, and she was far too busy feeling awkward and terrified at the same time. The sun setting as they approached Avonlea, bathing it in an orange and pink glow, took her breath away, and for a moment she felt a pang of homesickness.

Baeden had fallen asleep for the last hour, having been roused earlier than usual that morning. He was still tired from the excitement of his birthday besides, and when he slumped over against Gold’s arm, Belle couldn’t hold back a smile. Neither could Gold, and they spoke softly for the rest of the journey, when they spoke at all. She watched the two of them whenever she had the chance, admiring the closeness they seemed to share, and wishing that her own father was not so distant to her now.

They arrived just before six, and Belle immediately went to see her father, anxious to settle her mind about his letter. Except the steward, a man named Milton that Belle had never quite trusted or been comfortable around, stopped her. He told her that Maurice was resting, not to be disturbed. The news upset Belle, and she began to insist that she be allowed to see him, until Gold intervened.

He suggested they all wait until morning when clearer, less hungry and tired heads might prevail. She had to admit that he was right, but now that she was sitting in her old room, she found she was still irritated about the whole thing. No one would have kept her from her father before now, she was sure of it, and it raised her suspicions even more.

Exhaling, she pushed to her feet and walked over to the fireplace to add two more logs. She liked the room warmer to help her fall asleep, and right now she felt too nervous to even try, even as the heat from the fire felt searing through her nightgown.

There was a knock at the door as she was pacing in front of the hearth, and she snatched her robe off her bed on the way to answer it. For a brief second she hoped that maybe her father had heard she had arrived and came to see her, but as she crossed the robe over her chest and tied the ribbon at her waist, she knew that was probably unlikely. For all she knew Milton had imprisoned her father in his room like a villain in one of her novels.

Belle opened the door a crack, her eyes going wide in surprise when she saw who had come to her door so late.

* * *

“Cameron.” Belle stepped back, opening the door further.

“Belle,” Gold said softly, glancing down the corridor briefly to see if anyone else was up and about, before meeting her gaze. “My apologies in coming to see you so late, but you were quite upset earlier, and -” 

He paused and fiddled with his cane, noticing suddenly that she was in her nightdress and robe, which were both a soft blue fabric edged in ivory lace. They crossed over her chest, low, leaving a large swath of creamy skin exposed, broken only by her hair laying over her right shoulder in a thick braid wound with a yellow ribbon at the end.

“And?”

Her eyebrows lifted at him, and he shook himself. “And, uh, I wanted to see if you were feeling better.”

She gave him a small smile and stepped back into her room, folding her arms around her middle. “Not really.”

Gold hesitated for a moment, and then followed her into the room, letting the door ease closed behind him. He had to remind himself there was nothing untoward about them being in the same bedroom together, in fact most would have assumed them to be sharing space since they were married. They’d accepted separate bedrooms when they arrived, which wasn’t out of the norm, but if anyone knew where he was now, they wouldn’t think anything of it. Except every evening he said goodnight to her in the hallway, and watched her walk the opposite direction to her room.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked finally.

“I’ve never had _anyone_ keep me from seeing my father,” she said. “_Ever._ Not even when the King came here and they were in council together.” 

Gold was taken aback and gave her a wide-eyed look.

“I was eight,” she continued, starting to smile, “and I barged in unannounced, and Papa scooped me up, and asked me what I needed. Just like that. He completely ignored the King, to talk to me first.”

He chuckled at that, and shook his head. “I’m sure King George was furious.”

She shrugged and turned away from him, holding out her hands towards the fire. “I didn’t care. But now it’s - it’s all so different. We haven’t been that close since...” 

My mother died, she didn’t say, but Gold knew what she’d omitted. The young Lady Collette had died just after her thirtieth birthday. Belle would have been ten or eleven at the time, much older than Baeden when his mother had left, old enough to have tinged all her memories with grief. He swallowed hard and squeezed the handle of his cane.

“Your mother.”

She nodded and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Y-yes. That was a turning point for us, for everything around here, really.”

Gold stepped closer, coming up just behind her as the urge rose up in him to reach out and try to comfort her, but he wasn’t sure she would want that from him. 

Belle sniffed loudly and looked down at her hands as she fiddled with the end of the ribbon around her waist. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For letting me come here to check on things. For understanding why I needed to.” Then she turned around and put her hands over his where they were folded on the handle of his cane. “And for looking in on me. For caring.”

Her face tipped up to look at him, and he was startled by how near she was, how it would take nothing at all to touch his lips to hers. The thought was so shocking that he stepped away, needing to put space between them before he grossly overstepped and did something they would both regret.

“It’s - it’s no matter.” He quickly turned and walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the wood. “If you like,” he started, “in the morning I could speak to the steward. Milton?” Belle nodded and bit her lip. “I could tell him I have business to discuss with Lord Maurice, I doubt very much that he would refuse me.”

She smiled and shook her head, taking a few steps forward and tugging on her robe where it crossed low over her chest. “Thank you, again, but no. If he refuses me again in the morning, then I will deal with it.”

Gold’s head tilted. “We will deal with it. You’re not alone in this, yes?”

A strange expression came over her face for a moment, and then she nodded. “Yes.”

He pulled open the door, and stood in it as he looked back at her. “Goodnight, Belle.”

“Goodnight.”

* * *

After Gold left, Belle laid there for some time, watching the flames of the fire flicker and dance.

Her mind refused to calm enough to let her fall asleep, switching between worrying for her father and worrying for Gold. Whatever was wrong with him, whatever had upset Bae, was still there. It was the reason he needed his cane sometimes, and while there was nothing wrong with that, it bothered her that she didn’t know what ailed him, or if it was the reason he seemed to want a wife who wasn’t a wife.

There was also the fact that she was home, but not. Somehow, in the short time she had left, she’d become a stranger here, in the one place that had always been comfortable. Her mother’s passing had been a turning point, not only in her life, but in her relationship with her father. They remained close from the outside, but the truth of it was that neither of them could quite get passed it. It was the elephant in the room every day, looking at each other all the while knowing someone was missing.It was as though time was marked in two halves, before and after.

She was an outsider in Thornhill and a stranger in Avonlea, the woman who belonged nowhere.

Her face felt tense and she rolled onto her back, pressing her hands to her eyes as they began to burn with tears. She took a deep breath, and stared up at the canopy over her bed. The funny thing was, that of the two places she was suspended between, the one she seemed to want to go back to the most was Thornhill. It had beautiful gardens and walking paths, her book room, and it had - friends.

Belle wiped at her eyes, her fingers coming away wet. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but in the last few weeks she’d gone from feeling all alone to feeling like she was becoming part of something, that she was welcomed by Jefferson and Bae, and even Gold, into the little family they had made. Maybe her life was being further divided into before she was married, and after, where the after seemed strangely brighter and more hopeful.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tries to get some answers from her father, but not is all as it seems, and in the middle of the night she makes a terrible discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again this chapter didn't end up where I wanted it to. I'm going to end up drawing all this out just because I'm terrible at estimating how long these chapters will be. Sorry I'm like this. For the 31 Days prompt #16: fire.

Belle marched down the corridor.

The sound of her heels was loud and sharp, matching the cadence of her heart as she stalked towards her father’s study. Her fingers curled into fists as she came to the door, ready to kick and scream if necessary until Milton let her see her father. She pounded on the door three times and stepped back with her hands on her hips.

It creaked open and Milton’s thin, boney face appeared in the gap, his oddly pale eyes narrowing at her.

“I want to see my father,” she said firmly. 

He moved back and began to close the door, but she caught the edge of it with her hand and pushed into the space, using her hip and shoulder to force it back open.

“_Now._”

Milton drew back, his mouth opening to say something, but a voice from inside the room stopped him.

“Milton? Who’s there?”

“Papa?” she called out. “It’s me!”

“Belle!” came Maurices voice from inside. “Petal, come in, let me see you.”

She shot a glare at the steward, and stepped passed him into the room.

Maurice got up from his desk, a large mahogany thing with carvings on the sides, and came around to greet his daughter. He held out his hands to take hers and lifted them to his lips where he pressed a kiss to the back of each one. 

“Belle, my dear, I thought you were to arrive yesterday?”

She squeezed his fingers with hers. “We _did,_ we arrived just before supper.” She glanced over at Milton and met his stern gaze with one of her own.

Maurice frowned. “No one told me.” Then he looked to Milton, who had the decency to look sheepish when fixed with the questioning eyes of his master.

“My Lord,” the steward said, bowing at the waist, “I apologize, you were resting and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Maurice shook his head. “I always want to be disturbed for my favorite daughter.”

Belle rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of her annoyance at Milton’s clear defiance of her father’s wishes. “I’m your only daughter.”

Maurice leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Yes, precisely.” She laughed, and let him lay her arm over his. “Come, let’s talk in the library where it’s not so cluttered. Milton, put the ledgers away, we’ll finish this later.”

They passed by Milton as he mumbled a quick “yes my Lord,” and made the short trip from the study to the double doors of the library.

“Is everything alright, Papa?” she asked as he eased the doors closed.

“Of course,” he replied, motioning towards the velvet covered lounge with the sloped, curving back. “Didn’t you read my letter, my girl?”

“Well, yes, but - it was just a bit strange.”

Maurice let out a soft grunt as he sat, and Belle noted that he seemed to be favoring his left knee again. He’d injured it last summer dismounting a horse he had no business riding in the first place, when he landed in the mud and twisted his leg. It had bothered him off and on ever since, and it occurred to Belle that perhaps Gold’s issue was as simple and embarrassing as that. Of course he wouldn’t want to tell her everything about it when it was such an innocuous and silly thing.

“What was strange about it?” Maurice asked.

Belle sighed. “You talked of the winter preparations, the repairs to the mill, but nothing about how _you_ were, or whether things have improved now that the debt was paid down. It - it made me worry, Papa.”

“Oh, my dear,” he said, lifting her hand with his and letting it drop on his knee. “Everything is well. I am well, see?” 

He leaned back and puffed out his chest, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Yes, yes I see. Your knee is bothering you though, isn’t it?”

He sighed and nodded. “Yes, but it’s nothing. I’m an old man and I’m allowed to succumb to some aches and pains, am I not?”

“Yes, Papa,” she replied, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “And you are not old.”

The look he gave her made her giggled again, and she could feel some of her anxiety lessening. The incident with Milton was still sticking in her mind as suspicious. She knew she should trust her father, and trust in his confidence in Milton, but she wondered if it might be possible to get a peek at the ledgers, just to be sure.

“You’re sure everything is alright?”

Maurice huffed and straightened. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Where is all this coming from? Do you not trust me to run my own estate?”

She wanted to point out that trusting him to run his estate was how they’d gotten to the state they were in, well, that and the war in the south that King George had insisted on fighting. Now that it was over, the kingdom was rebuilding and recovering, but Avonlea still seemed to lag behind for some reason, and while she understood her father’s reluctance to discuss all his private matters with her, she felt that the status of the house of her mother’s family, which might still someday be her inheritance, was something she had a right to understand.

“No, no, it’s not that,” she insisted. Then she sighed. “It’s just different now that I’m not here. I wonder and I worry, and I won’t apologize for that.”

He exhaled and nodded, and reached for her hand again, holding in one hand while he patted the back of it with the other. “No, no, I don’t suppose you will.”

He hadn’t exactly agreed to tell her more, but she supposed for now she’d have to settle for him at least trying to understand. There was another matter she was hesitant to broach, but this was likely to be her only opportunity to speak with him alone for the near future. “Why didn’t Milton tell you I was here last night?”

Maurice let go of her hand and bristled at the question. ‘Why are you so suspicious, my girl? You marry that - that snake _Gold_ \- and now you come back and question everything? I thought you were here to visit because it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other, and yet you sit here interrogating me?”

Belle sprang to her feet, her brow knit in consternation. “What do you mean by that? It’s not as if I had a _choice_ in who I married, or did you forget the sad state of affairs of those ledgers just a month ago?”

“Belle, please, I didn’t mean that. Only that if Gaston hadn’t - ” He sighed. “If not for that, then Gold wouldn’t have been an option. This is not how it was supposed to be.”

“_No,_” she said, quickly stepping back when her father tried to take her hand again. “It’s _not_ how it was supposed to be at all, nor how I wanted it to be, but that didn’t matter did it?”

“My dear -”

The doors opened just then, and they both stopped, toe to toe between the sofa and the fireplace. Milton stood in the doorway, a slight smirk on his face that Belle wanted to slap right off his long face. 

“Pardon me, my Lord, there is a letter from Meryton that needs your attention.”

Maurice sighed. “We’ll talk after dinner, alright?”

She nodded, and gave Milton another hard stare, which he returned with a sneer behind her father’s back. As soon as the doors closed, she flopped down on the sofa and squeezed one of the pillows in anger as she stared into the fire. Her father was keeping something from her, and she didn’t know why, but it was obvious that Milton was part of it. They’d never had an adversarial relationship before, always being quite courteous but distant. 

The former steward, Edward, died at the very old age of eighty-one. By then Avonlea was already in debt and approaching dire straits. After a few months of her father struggling on his own to maintain everything, with Belle trying to help where she could, King George had recommended Milton. In hindsight, Belle knew she should have seen that as strange, and she made a mental note to mention it to Gold.

* * *

Dinner had been one of Belle’s favorite dishes, crispy duck with a sauce made from plums and red wine, with the last of the season’s squash and apples roasted alongside it. Gold remarked that he could see why she preferred it, and the grin he gave her made her hopeful that he would mention it to Ms. Potts when they returned and she might get to enjoy it more often than when she visited Avonlea. Even Bae, who was normally a very picky eater, was pleased, and she counted it as a significant victory that they all made it through with light, pleasant conversation and full bellies. It was one of those hearty meals that signaled the end of autumn and the coming winter, and it always left her with a warm, contented feeling.

Except she was not so content this evening. Her father had begged off speaking with her after they ate, giving her a flimsy excuse about his knee aching and wishing to rest it in a hot bath. Her father never did what was best for him in that way, and he had never liked very hot baths before, usually preferring them more lukewarm so it didn’t make his skin itch. She supposed things could change, but not in just a few weeks.

Here she was again, restless, unable to sleep, and taken to worrying about everything to the point where she was considering sneaking into her father’s study to get a look at the ledgers. She glanced at the door of her room again and bit her lip. It was late and everyone else was probably asleep, but there was one person that she considered it was possible was not. Milton had always claimed a tendency towards insomnia, which was why he often worked late during the evenings, but even he shouldn’t be in the study at this hour.

Belle paced the space between the bed and the sofa several times, mulling over her plan, before sighing and giving in to temptation. She took the tall candle from her bedside table and wiggled her feet into her slippers before easing the bedroom door open. The hall was dark save for the two candles that were left lit through the night, but she stared down it for some time all the same until her eyes adjusted to the dimness and she could make out enough shadowy shapes to navigate her way safely.

It took her only a few minutes to make her way down the back stairway the servants used and cross through the drawing room to the main hallway. At the end of it was the study, and she waited at the door for a full minute before she opened it. The door was thankfully dark save for the remains of a fire, and she shivered as she stepped into the chilly room.

She pulled her robe tighter and came around the desk, setting the candlelight to the left of the ledger. Her fingers traced the cover, hesitating before she opened it, and she blew out a breath and closed her eyes before lifting it.

The first page was nothing more than rows of numbers copied over from the previous ledger, which seemed to have ended just after her marriage. She could see that everything appeared to be in order, the debts had been cancelled out, and the expenses and taxes didn’t outweigh the income from the harvest. She smiled and turned the page, only to have her face fall. The next set of numbers were less comforting, and there was one entry for a not insignificant sum that had no notation as to what it was for, nor a name for the payment. It was possible that her father had simply forgotten to write it down, but she didn’t think Milton would be that sloppy.

The next page had another of the same entry for almost the same amount, and again there was no notation or name. The total at the bottom was surprisingly low for an end of season harvest, particularly one that they had expected to be the best in several years. She bit her lip and looked at the next page, letting it fall from her fingers as she gasped.

Several rows of torn paper stuck up and she trailed her fingertips over them, counting at least four pages that had been ripped from the book. Her breathing increased as she felt the telltale twist in her gut that told her she was correct in a way she hoped never to be. The glow from the candle and the fire gave the whole scene an ominous feeling, and she turned the next page slowly, swallowing hard as she revealed the inevitable.

Row after row of figures went down the page, including one of the empty entries, now infamous in her mind. At the bottom, she could see the sad truth, that Avonlea was in debt again, to at least three different creditors this time, instead of just to the royal treasury. Her heart sunk all the way to her feet and she pressed a hand to her mouth as a sick feeling rose up in her throat. In spite of Gold’s payments to the King, her father was well on his way to ruin all over again.

She staggered back from the desk, knocking against the chair and making it scrap against the wood floor. The sound was startlingly loud, and she held very still, waiting for another sound that would tell her if anyone overheard. After a minute or two of nothing, she sat down in the chair with her head in her hands.

Her marriage, leaving home, Gold’s money.

_It had all been for nothing._

She lifted her head and stared at the ledger for a long moment before reaching out to flip back to the torn pages. What had been on them that needed to be torn out? And who had done it? Was it her father in a fit of anger, or Milton trying to hide what was happening until it was too late?

The fire snapped, and she jumped in her seat. Her eyes fixed on the fireplace, and she pushed to her feet, crossing quickly to the hearth. She knelt down on the warm stone in front of it and peered into the flames and ashes. Even the heat from the low fire was searing this close, and she winced as she leaned closer. Near the front she made a discovery that raised her eyebrows to her hairline, the remains of at least two sheets of paper, the same color and weight as the pages of the ledger.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold comes to Belle’s rescue after a confrontation with Maurice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING FINALLY. I’m so sorry this update has taken so long. The holidays and the start of the new year really messed up everything and made the muse go dormant for a time. There is a bit of non-linear story telling in this chapter. ALSO, tags on this fic have been updated for some upcoming trope laden goodness. ;) This was supposed to be for the 31 Days prompt #22: Warmth.

Gold knelt down and set two more logs on the fire in Belle’s room, waiting until the flames caught them before pushing to his feet.

He turned around, his expression pained as he looked at Belle. She was sitting on the sofa in front of the hearth with his coat draped around her, her body trembling head to toe as she shivered. He could hear her teeth clacking together behind her tightly set mouth, even over the snap and crackle of the fire, and his hands flexed at his sides. Her shoulders shuddered and her fingers curled over the edges of the coat, trying to draw it closer around her.

“Here,” he said finally, moving to the bed where a heavy knit blanket was folded over the end. “Let’s try this instead of that wet thing.”

He carried the blanket over to the sofa and draped it over the arm before reaching for his coat. She didn’t react at first, her gaze fixed straight ahead, as he started to remove the damp, embroidered fabric down her arms, but after a few seconds she shifted to the side and turned to let him pull the coat away. A moment later, he laid the blanket over her, wrapping it over her shoulders and folding it over her lap with her arms beneath.

“There. Is that better?”

She nodded numbly, but didn’t look at him.

Gold sighed and looked around the room, desperate for something that would tell him what to do. When he had found Belle in the snow, tears frozen to her face and her clothes nearly soaked through, his only concern had been to get her inside where she could warm up. The wind had picked up late in the morning, tossing around the powdery snow and biting at the skin. It was so bad by mid afternoon, that the estate had called all the guards inside, yet Belle had run out into it with no cloak, no gloves, no protection but her favorite blue dress.

She could be near hypothermia, he thought, and frostbitten besides. He’d seen it before, almost experienced it himself a time or two in the particularly harsh winters of the Frontlands, back before his ascension to the nobility. At least she was still feeling the cold, and shivering, that was better than not feeling it at all, or worse yet, passing the point of no return and feeling overheated instead. He’d seen soldiers at that stage tear off their armor and leathers and throw themselves into the snow to try to cool off, not understanding that they already were.

“Can I - can I call for the maid?” he offered. She didn’t respond, he frowned as he eased himself down beside her. “Belle?”

His touch on her shoulder startled her, and he drew back abruptly. “Please, sweetheart, I should ring for the maid, or - or ask your father to call his physician.”

“N-no,” Belle replied quietly. “No, please don’t.”

She shifted slightly and leaned towards him until she was resting against his shoulder. He held himself still, feeling the lingering trembles in her body, and raised his arm hesitantly. As soon as he settled it on the back of the sofa, she came nearer, drawn in by his warmth, and pressed herself into him. After a minute or two, the shivering began to subside, and his fingers curled into a fist over the carved wood as he fought the urge to hold her close.

Her fingers were curled against him, holding his shirt lightly as though she couldn’t bear to be apart from him, but he was sure it was just the lingering trauma of whatever had upset her. Even so, it was good to feel wanted, if for nothing more than body heat and the presence of another person. He was quite certain if they were at Thornhill, she would vastly prefer the company of Astrid to him.

They sat quietly for a time, until Gold felt the dampness seeping through the blanket and into his shirt from her wet clothes. She might not be shivering anymore, but she was hardly well, and there was still a great chance she would come down with something and be abed for days if she didn’t get warm.

“Your dress,” he said easing her upright, “is still wet. They won’t dry fast enough, you need a change of clothes.”

“Oh.” 

Belle’s voice seemed fogged with confusion, though whether it was from the cold or from whatever had upset her, he wasn’t sure. She pulled at the blanket until it fell around her, baring her arms and making her shiver anew as she began to tug at the laces of her bodice.

“Please, let me get someone to help you,” he said again.

She frowned at her hands as she plucked at the strings, her chilled fingers unable to work properly. “Help me.”

He blinked. “What?”

She sighed heavily with one lacing half pulled through the eyelet of her dress. “Don’t want the maid. Just - just help me with this.”

Gold swallowed, watching dumbly as she fought with her clothes for a long moment before finally reaching for her.

“Here,” he said softly, “stand up.”

Belle let him draw her to her feet, her hands holding on to his forearms as she wobbled on her shoes, one of which seemed to be broken at the heel. The sofa behind her was darkened and wet where she’d been sitting, and she frowned at it as they turned together. The fire was blazing hotter than usual, a searing heat on her side, and she shivered again.

Gold tugged gently on the line of lacing at the front of her dress, loosening the top enough for her to push it down over her front. Beneath it, her thin blouse was damp and cold, plastered to her corset and revealing the lines of the boning that curved against her waist. He kept his eyes on his hands, working at the tie at her hip to release the skirt, and then pulled away as it fell to the floor. 

Her legs trembled in their stockings, and he turned, averting his eyes and busying himself with covering the wet fabric of the sofa with the folded blanket.

“Is - is there another?” he asked, glancing briefly at Belle’s face when she answered and pointed at the trunk beside the armoire across the room.

Grateful to have something to take him away from the sight of Belle in her underthings, he rummaged in the trunk, moving aside an extra pillow and a set of linen sheets before he found a thick, woolen blanket in a mix of gray and blue stripes. He pulled it out and turned, letting his gaze settle on Belle’s form standing in front of the fire, stockings sagging over her knees and her shift hanging loose over her small clothes. It barely covered her to mid thigh, leaving a gap of pale skin that drew his eyes down to where the hem fell over the curve of her backside. The fire illuminated the fabric, making the silhouette of her body show through the thin material.

He shook himself and unfolded the blanket as he crossed the space, coming up behind to lay it over her shoulders. She reached up as he did so, covering his hands with hers for a moment as she grabbed hold of the fabric and pulled it tight around her. He nearly shivered himself at the brief touch of her chilled palms, and realized for the first time that his own clothes were in no fit state either. His trousers were still damp from the knee down from kneeling in the snow as he’d helped her up, and there was a smear of mud on his shirt sleeve. Along with all that, he could catalog a number of aches and pains that were beginning to make themselves known.

Belle sighed, her eyes closing as she turned her back to the fire to warm her other side. “Thank you.”

Gold shook his head. “It’s no matter.”

He wanted to ask what had driven her out into the snow covered garden, and why she had been weeping on the ground at her mother’s grave, saying something about being cursed, but he felt as thought it was too raw for her yet. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her again.

“Do you think a hot bath would help?”

She exhaled again and nodded, and he moved to the door to call for the maid. A few minutes later, two young women came in and began filling the tub in the bathing room with steaming water, and producing fluffy white towels from a cupboard in the corner.

Gold eased his way towards the door, his heavy, damp coat laying over his arm, when Belle suddenly looked up, seemingly just realizing he was leaving, and came towards him.

“Will you stay?”

He froze with his lips parted, staring at her, and shook his head. “I - I shouldn’t.” Her face fell and he quickly added, “My clothes are wet as well. I need to change.”

Her lips curved slightly and she shook her head, tossing a few wet curls around her face. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Then he swallowed and said, “I - I could back if you like. After -?”

She nodded and her smile widened. “I’d like that. I - I feel as though I need to explain my behavior.”

“You needn't bother -”

“I want to,” she said more firmly. “Please?”

He gave her a brief nod, and she reached out to take his free hand, giving it a grateful squeeze. On a whim, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it before letting it fall. Her lips twitched, and he inclined his head once more before opening the bedroom door and slipping into the corridor.

* * *

Belle sighed and sat back against the curve of the tub.

She waved her hands back and forth through the water slowly, feeling the heat against her palms. The temperature was hotter than she usually preferred, but given her earlier chill it seemed warranted. Now, however, she felt quite thoroughly thawed and perhaps even too warm as a light sheen of perspiration tickled her forehead. She wiped at it with a washcloth and then sat forward, pulling her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on them as she gazed into the fire.

When she’d first stepped outside, the chilled air had been a shock to her system, making her lungs burn with it, but once grief and despair had overtaken her reason, she hadn’t felt anything at all. Even the snow under palms was nothing more than a brief sharpness as she pressed her fingers down into it, scooping up handfuls and flinging them at the base of the gravestone.

What would her mother have said at such foolishness? Or worse, at the financial state of her beloved home?

Belle had gone to see her father in the early afternoon, and found him alone in his study, frowning at the very ledgers she’d spied the night before. He quickly shut them upon seeing her, and did his best to steer her away from the desk and its many papers, but she was having none of it.

“Papa,” she said, “why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Maurice rolled his eyes and guided her towards the sofa by the fireplace with hand at her back, but she turned and slipped away from him. “We have been over this, my girl, nothing is wrong.”

“Then why is the estate in nearly same debt as it was two months ago?”

Her eyes met his, her gaze hard and unwavering as he tried to stammer out an explanation.

“It - it isn’t,” he managed, moving to the desk to slide the books away from her grasp. “Everything is fine.”

“It’s not,” she insisted. “I’ve seen them for myself, and -”

“You were in my study?” He looked at her aghast, plainly surprised that she would go to such lengths. “You were snooping through my things?”

His indignation was misplaced, and she scoffed. “I wouldn’t need to snoop if you were honest with me!”

“_Belle,_ the finances of an estate are complicated, you wouldn’t understand the methods that -”

Her hand came down hard on the top of the desk, and Maurice jumped.

“I understand debits and credits perfectly well, _father,_ though I have started to wonder if you can say the same. I want to know _why._ What was the point of any of it? Of marrying me off to save our home if it was going to be lost anyway?”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Maurice insisted. “You did your duty to your family, and helped save your mother’s legacy. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Tears welled up in her eyes as her hands curled into fists. None of it had been what she wanted. What she wanted she couldn’t have. “How can you say that when Avonlea is in the same state as it was when I married Cameron?”

“Cameron?” came a snide voice from the doorway. 

Milton swaned into the room, his mouth spread into a twisted, smirking smile. “Listen to her, my Lord, she’s calling him by his first name already.”

Belle’s eyes narrowed as she spun on her heel to face the steward. “I can call my husband whatever I like, not that it is any of your business.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, “but it is interesting that you’re already on such _intimate_ terms with a Lord the rest of the kingdom despises. You’ve ingratiated yourself quite readily it seems.”

Belle took a shaky breath as she felt her fury mix with a disgusted, unsettling feeling in her belly. She opened her mouth to speak, but, surprisingly, Maurice stepped in front of her.

“What are you implying about my daughter, Milton?”

Milton’s head tilted as he smiled. “Only that we could have gotten three times the amount we did out of Gold if only we’d known what a _willing_ wife she would make.”

“_Steward,_ you forget yourself.” Belle pushed her shocked father aside and fisted her hands in her skirt, her nails digging into her palms through the satin and lace. “I am still a Lady, I have done _nothing_ to disgrace myself or my family.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his eyes shifting back and forth between Maurice and Belle. “Then what of your previous engagement to Sir Gaston? Why agree to marry one man, only to discard him, and marry another so soon after?”

Her face flushed and she turned her head to look see her father’s mouth hanging open, his eyes wide with fear. Had he told Milton of the terrible truth behind her broken engagement?

Maurice met her gaze and swallowed. “Belle, I swear I didn’t mean to. I -”

She felt the floor drop from beneath her feet, and the room shifted around her as though she was tumbling backwards. Her eyes squeezed shut and she heard the rush of blood in her ears, her heart thudding against her ribs as a sharp pain bloomed in the center of her chest. It had all been for naught, all her sacrifices, all her troubles. Her mother’s home would be lost forever, and worse yet she would be disgraced in the eyes of all her friends, and of the royal court. 

Perhaps even Gold as well. 

There was nothing to keep Milton from spreading his rumors and lies far and wide, if he hadn’t already. She pitched forward as a hollow, sick feeling pulled at her stomach, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to breath through her nose as she bolted from the room.

Maurice made an attempt to follow her, but stopped after she shoved open the double doors leading out to the garden. She stumbled out onto the stone patio, wincing as the cold wind stung her cheeks. Ducking her head, she made her way through the hedgerow and the lines of empty planter boxes to the far corner of the park where a wrought iron gate cordoned off a section of the lot. The gate squeaked loudly as it swung open, the hinges in dire need of grease and showing fresh spots of rust. Beyond it the grass poked through the top of the snow, left long from lack of care and maintenance. Had she the presence of mind to notice the disrepair allowed of such a sacred place, it would have fueled her anguish even more.

She dropped to her knees in the snow as sobs wracked her body, causing her shoulders to heave with the strength of them. Her vision blurred as she looked up at a squared stone in polished black granite, a single name carved into its face.

_Collette._

“Oh, Mother,” she cried, her hands pressing into the ground and soaking her shirtsleeves. “I’m so sorry. I tried. I tried so hard!”

Her dress was already wet through to her petticoat and stockings from the snow, and the toes of her shoes sunk into the grass and mud beneath. Around her the wind blew, the direction changing from minute to minute, swirling and rattling the tree branches, and sending waves of displaced snow down on top of her. She felt none of it, only the ache in her chest at the thought of losing Avonlea, and the heaviness of grief long held behind stubborn forbearance.

“I know it’s my fault.” She sniffed loudly and wetly, coughing at the tightness in her throat. “It’s my - my curse, I know it. All of it - it - it’s me, _it’s me!_”

She scratched at the earth, digging up a handful of snow and throwing it feebly at the base of the granite stone as she cried.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle spends her bath time in contemplation, and later tells Gold about the state of Avonlea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. This chapter ended up taking way longer than I thought because I thought of something I wanted to add and had to rewrite a whole section. Also our dishwasher broke and I spent most of Saturday getting it swapped out instead of writing. As a result this chapter is so looooong and probably riddled with typos. Sorry.

Belle shivered and blinked, the fireplace coming back into focus as the vision of her mother’s grave faded. 

It was an odd sensation, like existing outside of herself, and she closed her eyes for a moment, breathed out slowly, before wiping away the last of her tears. It had been some time since she ventured into that part of the garden. For a long time it had been easier to keep on with the day to day than acknowledge what had come before, and that had perhaps been the root of the problems between her and her father.

The water was more of a comforting warmth now than the stinging heat it had been when she’d first submerged her chilled body. The fire helped keep the small space from cooling the bath too fast, and gave the air a hazy, steamy quality that was quite soothing. She sat back against the tub and stretched out her limbs, feeling a steady ache and a faint tenderness as she pushed against the other end with her feet. 

The ground had been hard despite the snow and mud, leaving her with faint bruising on her knees. Her palms had a few small abrasions on them as well, that spread and sharpened to pinpricks of pain as she flexed her fingers in the water. She looked fine otherwise, normal as ever from head to toe, at least on the outside.

Her head dropped back and she stared up at the arched ceiling of the small bathing room. She’d gotten so used to her rooms at Thornhill that now her old space at Avonlea felt strange and almost unfamiliar, particularly now that the majority of her belongings had been moved. The armoire had only the few dresses she’d brought with her, one of which was liked ruined now from her outdoor breakdown.

A thought occurred to her as she recalled how she’d arrived in such a state in the snow. Milton had known her situation somehow, had found out her secret. What if he had also told Sir Gaston? It explained everything that had happened between her and Gaston, and the resulting broken engagement, but, more than that, it also could explain the strange payments in her father’s ledger. Maybe Milton had been extorting money from the estate, demanding payments to keep quiet about her scandal. Gaston had insisted on a dowry payment to release the betrothal contract, maybe that was to keep him from talking as well. 

Of course, out of fear of what might happen to her, her father had been forced to pay it. She wanted to believe that her father had the best intentions, but it was just as possible that he was an easily manipulated fool, taken advantage of by an untrustworthy snake of a steward, and a knight who couldn’t so much as spell the word honorable. Sadly, both possibilities seemed equally likely, and both meant that the estate would likely be lost to her family forever. 

Sighing, she pushed herself up and out of the bath, goosebumps rising on her skin. The towels had been warmed by the fire, and she hastily wrapped one of them around her shoulders before sitting down on the low ottoman in front of the hearth.

The one thing that seemed to be in her favor was Gold. Whatever he wanted from her, it wasn’t anything a husband usually wanted of a wife, and he seemed to find it a trifling matter to pay her father’s debts. While she couldn’t expect him to pay them again, she could at least seek his advice, and once he knew the situation it was possible that at least Milton might be dealt with. 

He’d been so good to her these past weeks, so understanding and obliging, and she found herself desiring his company more and more. They could converse more easily now, and no matter the topic she found it stimulating and comforting at the same time. He seemed to value her opinion too, which was novel after having it so easily dismissed in her own home.

Belle stood, shed her towel, and pulled a nightgown over her head, the cool, blue silk a welcome sensation against skin heated by the bath and the fire. Her mother would tell her that none of it was her fault, that the superstitions around her birth were old hat, just as she always had. Unfortunately, Collette was the only one who seemed to really believe that. Belle had known from an early age that there was something strange and unsaid surrounding her, and once she had been told the full story, it left her with more questions than answers.

She slipped on her robe, and wiggled her feet into a pair of soft slippers before exiting the bathing room and heading into her former bedroom. She stopped just inside, surprised to see that Gold had returned as promised, seated at one end of the sofa in front of the fire. On the table was a covered tray and a water pitcher, and she pressed a hand to her stomach as it rumbled lightly.

“Hello.”

Gold turned towards her and smiled. He had forgone his formal jacket and instead return in just his shirt and waistcoat. “You look much better.”

“I _feel_ much better, thank you.” She crossed the space, taking a seat opposite him. “What’s all this?”

He leaned over and lifted the cover, revealing a small platter of cheese and dried meats, a small bowl of hot broth, and a heel of bread. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, but I thought you should eat something, even if you weren’t hungry.”

She took a deep breath, catching the scent of all the foods, and smiled. “Well, no worries there, I feel like I could eat all of it.”

He let out a warm chuckle and slid the tray towards her. “I admit I was - worried - when I found you in the garden, so I’m glad to hear it.”

He sighed and reached across the cushion, coming close to her hand, but not taking it until she turned her palm up and offered it. She was wearing even less than when he left her to her bath, and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck as his eyes settled over her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But thank you, again. I - I’m glad you were there. I’m glad it was you who came to find me.”

“It’s no matter,” he replied as she folded a thin slice of cheese in half and popped it in her mouth. “I saw you come out of your father’s study. You looked -” 

He shook his head and let his gaze drift from their joined hands to the fire. It was a moment that would take some time for him to forget, the way she ran as if there was a demon at her heels, the pale, haunted look on her face. In that instant, he was torn between the urge to march down the corridor and demands answers from Maurice, or to go after her and make sure she was alright. He was grateful to have chosen the latter.

“You seemed quite distressed.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh as she reached for the bread. “That I was.”

“_Why?_”

The question came abruptly, and her mouth opened in surprise. He seemed distressed himself, his voice heavy with concern, but quiet at the same time, as though if he feared that if he was too sharp or loud she might run out into the snow again.

“I -” She swallowed and looked away, feeling the tension in her face as she tried to maintain her composure. 

Gold sighed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. You don’t have to answer, not now.”

Belle nodded and pulled her head away to tear the chunk of bread in half. She held it out to Gold, offering him some, but he shook his head.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d come back,” she admitted, pressing her fingers into the soft, spongy bread before pushing it between her lips.

“I thought it would be bad form if I didn’t, after I promised I would.” He flashed her a small smile that she readily returned.

“How is Bae?” she asked, and Gold happily relayed the adventures of the day as she ate a little bit of everything.

Knowing that Gold had not only seen her running away, but had followed her, made her wonder how much he had heard out there in the snow. It was embarrassing to consider, but at the same time, it was probably best that he’d seen and heard something if it made him come to her rescue. She knew she needed to explain herself, and he seemed to want that too, but the line between the secrets she wished to keep and the financial issues of Avonlea was thin at best. Certainly, Gold would suss it out eventually. He was too smart and intuitive not to, and despite her years of holding so much close to her heart, a part of her actually wanted to tell him everything. After everything he’d done for her so far, it felt like the truth was the least he deserved in return. Maybe it would lead to him opening up to her as well, and they could share in some of each others’ burden.

* * *

“It’s late,” Gold said some time later. “You should rest.”

“Yes.” Belle nodded and sighed. “I need to comb out my hair first or it will be a nightmare in the morning.”

He gave her an amused smile before pushing to his feet collected the tray and plates, taking them to the door and setting them just outside in the corridor. When he turned, Belle was seating herself on the padded bench at the end of her bed. She collected her damp hair and pulled it over one shoulder before starting to comb through the ends. He waited for a long moment, watching her struggle to hold the comb properly with her hands still hurting from the cold and the scattering of little cuts. 

Gold sighed and crossed the space, touching her shoulder gently until she stopped and looked up. “Do you want - some, um - ? I - I could help. If you like?”

She swallowed and looked down at her feeble hand, wrapped awkwardly around the comb. Her fingertips felt as raw as her nerves at the thought of Gold helping her with her hair. Few had saved for her mother and Astrid, but it would be worse come the morning if someone didn’t. She glanced up again and nodded.

“Come,” he said softly. “Let’s go back by the fire.”

His hand hovered at her back, the silk and wool blend of her robe fluttering out behind her and grazing his fingers. It was very soft and light, a darker blue than her nightgown, which peaked out at the bottom and in the split of the fabric at the front. He’d been avoiding the obvious, refusing to let his mind acknowledge the inappropriateness of seeing her in such a state in the interest of making sure she was well, yet now he’d purposefully offered to cross the line even further. 

Fortunately, everyone outside of the two of them probably thought nothing of the fact that he was in her room so late in the evening, after her bath. They were married, after all, and it was more than expected they would spend time together. Others need not know what they were or weren’t getting up to.

“No,” Gold said as Belle made to sit on the sofa once again. He nudged the ottoman closer, and pressed lightly at the small of her back to guide her to sit there instead. “This way you won’t have to twist for me to reach.”

She looked over her shoulder and gave him a small, brief smile, then straightened as he started to work. Her hands folded in her lap, clasped anxiously as he worked with his fingers to separate a section of her hair. There were a few light tugs, but no pain, and once he started combing through it, from scalp to ends, the gentle scratch and pull became soothing. 

Belle shifted slightly, rocking backwards as he trailed the comb through her hair, drawing her close to his body with each stroke. Her hair was drying in the heat from the fire, revealing its softness and tendency to curl at the ends. His lips pressed together as he set one section over her shoulder, resisting the urge to thread his fingers through it. He was simply assisting her when she was in need, nothing more, and if Astrid had come with him he wouldn’t be required at all.

“How do you know how to tend hair so well?”

Her voice shook him from his work, and his mouth opened for a moment in surprise. She gave him another glance over her shoulder, smiling, and his lips curved.

“In my previous life,” he said quietly, aware of how close he was and how easily she could hear every sound he made, “I was a - a spinner.”

He stopped when she twisted around to face him, her brow knit and her lips quirked slightly. “Truly?”

Gold gave her a brief nod, and she turned back to the fire, letting him start on the right side of her head. “Yes. Also a weaver and an aspiring tailor.”

Belle’s mind reeled with this new knowledge. She had known that Gold wasn’t born from nobility, and that his title had been bestowed on him by King George shortly after his ascension to the throne upon the death of his uncle. There had been rumors about Gold’s origins, but some of them were so fantastical that they were not to be believed, stories about him having made a deal with a demon or a djinn, or that he himself might be some kind of magic power. 

Magic hadn’t been seen in the kingdoms in centuries, the practitioners having died out or left long ago without much record of their methods, and demons and djinn were pure mythology, created from the minds of men to explain away that which they could not understand or accept. Though the new church had grown significantly in the last few decades, there were still certain signs that had maintained their supernatural and superstitious reputation. She supposed, from her own experience, that had happened with good reason.

“So, you were -?”

“Poor,” Gold finished for her. “Quite so, in fact.” She breathed out a soft _'oh'_ and he smiled. “It’s no matter. I think I’ve done quite well in spite of it, don’t you?”

Belle let out a light laugh as the last lock of hair slid through his fingers and fell against her back. She turned on the ottoman and grinned at him. “Very well,” she agreed. Then she took hold of his hand, lifting it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to the fingers that were still wrapped around her comb. “And I’m glad of it.”

She felt the smallest return squeeze from his fingers as he said her name, and there was something in the way it sounded that almost undid her all over again. She took a breath and raised her eyes to his face, forcing a small smile to try to convey her gratitude. He had, for all intents and purposes, saved her life, and she wasn’t sure how to acknowledge that properly.

“I should go,” he managed, holding her hand even as he stood. “It’s even later now.”

“Yes.” Her hair was done, combed through with such delicacy and care that her mind not been busy, she likely could have fallen asleep.

She knew she should head to bed but the thought of being alone with her thoughts seemed unsettling. Her eyes closed for a moment and she could see her mother’s grave again clearly, the sensation of cold sending a shiver over her body from head to toe. Her hand tightened over his, and she felt his fingers slip between hers to hold her hand more fully. He said her name again as her legs wobbled, and he dropped the comb to take her by the shoulder as she reached out with her other hand to brace herself on his forearm.

“Are you all right?”

He’d called her sweetheart. She hadn’t really thought of it in the moment, frozen to her core, but now the memory made her feel warm inside, as though there might really be some genuine affection and friendship growing between them. 

“Would you - would you stay?”

She didn’t know where the request came from, but she knew that if he left her now everything she had managed to reign in would break free and there would be little rest.

“I - I don’t -”

Belle met his gaze with her own, both of them equally uncertain. “Just - just until I fall asleep? I - I don’t want to be alone.”

Gold swallowed and nodded, glad to have his earlier assumptions confirmed. She desired the presence of another person, and he was the available option. It need be no more than that.

She moved away from him, keeping their hands linked, and tugged lightly. He let his weight shift as she pulled again, unmoved as his lips quirked, and she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at his antics. The sound was the most pleasing thing he could have imagined, and, finally, he stood and let her lead him over to her canopied bed.

Anxiety grew in his gut, and he wondered what she wanted of him. He had thought to just sit beside the bed on a chair or some such, but she appeared determined to have him as near as possible. Fortunately, it would only be for a short while, until she was asleep, and then he could escape back to his room and contemplate all that had happened.

Belle let go of his hand and turned back the bed sheets before slipping between them. Once she was settled, Gold eased them up over her, and followed them with the duvet folded at the bottom of the bed. A light press on her shoulder made her smile, and he made his way around to the other side. He paused, waiting for some sign to confirm what he should do, and when she stretched her hand out towards him, he gave in and climbed up, above the bed clothes.

A pillow propped against the headboard was serviceable enough of a cushion for now, as his lower half slowly sank into the mattress. He turned towards her, letting her take his hand as she had before.

“It was Milton.” Her eyes shifted from their joined hands to his face, seeing the way his eyebrows lifted at her words. “I was speaking to my father, and he came in. He - he said things, and I -”

She paused and swallowed hard, and Gold gave her fingers a soft squeeze. “Can you tell me what things he said?” 

Belle seemed to shake her head, and he let the question lie, though he made a mental note to look into the steward’s background. The man had a shadow of something about him, something that Gold had immediately distrusted, and to hear that he had also said something which had upset Belle so desperately that she ran out into the weather, only further lowered Gold’s opinion.

“Are things well with your father?”

“No.” She sighed. “It is as I feared, he was hiding something from me.”

Gold’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, intent on not pressing Belle for answers.

“Avonlea is - is in debt again. Almost worse than - than before.”

The crack of her voice pulled at his heart, even as her words made his stomach sink. Avonlea’s debts had been significant, though not so that he couldn’t afford to absolve them. To hear that it was as if he had never done it at all, was distressing indeed, and certainly further explain Belle’s reaction. To hear of the state of her former home, and then follow that with whatever cruelties Milton had spoken, it was no wonder she had gone out into the snow without a care for herself.

It was entirely likely that Milton had some part to play in all this, and that it was not just the unfairness of the King’s taxes or Lord Maurice’s ineptitude for finances. Gold’s free hand curled into a fist against the duvet as he looked towards the bedroom door. He wanted to take the handle of his cane to the side of Milton’s head, or pin him down and demand answers. A quiet rage began to simmer beneath his skin though he tried to rein it in for Belle’s sake. 

“How is that possible?” he managed.

Belle let out another soft sound. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went down to his study and the ledgers were there. None of it adds up properly, and there are payments that have no notation for them. I don’t know what to make of it all.”

Gold frowned. Unspecified payments was suspicious to say the least, and may well point to some other threat that was blackmailing Maurice. “Your father had no explanation?”

“No,” she replied. Then she let out a humorless, scoffing sound. “He acted as if I didn’t understand basic sums, as if I was too stupid to realize what it all meant. We were arguing about it when Milton came in, and then - well, then it got worse. I fear whatever the root of it may be, it won’t be solved by more money, even if it could be paid off in the first place.”

“If the cause of it is resolved, I’m sure it can,” said Gold. “But, Belle, you know you needn’t worry about all this. It won’t affect you.”

He turned his head, and she frowned, pushing herself upright. “How can it not?” she asked. “It’s my ho - my _mother’s_ home, her family’s legacy, _my_ legacy. I have to try to make things right.”

Gold swallowed, his eyes moving down of their own accord. The laces of Belle’s nightgown were loose, the knot having come free from her shifting around in the bed, leaving a gap that showed the fair slope of her chest and the flush of emotion which brightened her skin. There was a tinge of intimacy to the moment, as if they conversed on such serious matters in bed all the time. His gaze immediately snapped back to hers as he felt his own face heat.

“Of - of course. I only meant that the financial ruin of Avonlea would no longer mean the same for you. Of course you don’t want to see anything happen to it, your mother’s memory is tied to it, as is your own history.” 

Her face seemed to relax at that, and he took her hand again in reassurance. 

“I - I know how it can be,” he continued, staring down at their linked fingers, “to feel the weight of your own past, to carry that with you, good and bad. And believe me when I say that I know what it is to lose one’s own home.”

Her thumb rubbed back and forth across his knuckles, and he lifted his eyes to hers. “We won’t let that happen.”

“How?”

His lips pressed together and then frowned. “I don’t know yet.” For some reason that made her smile and shake her head. “But,” he added, “we will speak to your father in the morning, together, and we’ll sort it out.”

Belle was surprisingly cheered by his words, and the determination in his voice. Even if nothing much came of it, at least she knew for certain that he was on her side.

“Thank you,” she replied, “Cameron.”

Gold gave her a smile, and kissed her hand. “Good night, Belle.”

She settled back on her pillow and pulled the covers up to her shoulder. Their hands rested on the mattress between them for a few seconds before she shifted, lifting his hand and repeating what he had done. The touch of her lips to his skin nearly sent him tumbling to the floor in surprise, so soft and light. It was no more affection than anyone showed to women of equal station and acquaintance, yet it felt - _different._

After a time, her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing grew shallow. The tension in her fingers faded and her hand opened, leaving his palm to lie gently over hers. She needed rest, but his mind was swirling with questions as to what had caused her condition, certain that it was whatever had occurred between her and her father. 

He didn’t want to pry into their relationship, but he had the sense from the first minute he’d met Lord Maurice that something had strained there, driving father and daughter apart in spite of their strong familial ties. Perhaps Belle’s mother had been the glue holding them all together. The passing of a loved one was certain capable of causing rifts in a family, he knew that first hand, yet it had been some years since Lady Collette had died. 

Gold sighed, and allowed his head to lean back against the headboard, wanting to wait until he was certain she wouldn’t wake if he left. After a time, as the clock ticked over to midnight, his eyelids grew heavy, and he felt himself lulled to sleep by the warmth of the room and the calming presence of Belle beside him.

* * *

Gold awoke in the wee hours of the morning, and looked around in confusion.

After a long moment, he became aware of his location and frowned as he rubbed his eyes. The clock on the bedside table read midnight, and he groaned as he rolled his head from side to side. His neck was stiff from his slumped position, and he knew that if he didn’t move and get himself back to his room, his back and his leg would suffer all day for it.

He turned and gazed at Belle, pleased to see that she hadn’t stirred. Their hands still touched, her fingers laying along his and touching his palm. Swallowing hard, he eased himself away and pressed his hand to his chest where a strange ache had made itself known. He arched his back and blamed it on the general uncomfortableness of his sleep.

Pushing to his feet, he wished he had thought to bring his cane, and took a few hobbling steps before the cramping in his leg subsided. He looked back at Belle and found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave, though it was more from not wanting to be seen stumbling back to his own room in the middle of the night, than any misplaced affection towards her. There was, however, a sense of obligation to protect her that he couldn’t ignore.

If Belle needed anything, Gold knew he would provide it, whether it was money to save Avonlea or a few minutes of combing her hair. His thumb rubbed back and forth across his fingertips, recalling the sensation of her tresses sliding through them as he ducked into the hall.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Belle talk with Maurice, but things escalate when Milton arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bernie Sanders meme* I am once again asking you to forgive me for it being 84 years since the last update. I hope you all enjoy the first appearance of the Cane of Feels. ;) The next chapter is already almost done, but the ending part kept getting longer and longer so I split things up. See note at the end. Also tags have had a minor update to include canon typical violence which occurs in this chapter.

Belle took a breath and felt Gold squeeze her hand.

She looked up and gave him a tight smile. Her stomach had unsettled all morning, leaving her pacing in her bedroom as she waited and barely able to eat anything for breakfast.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She let go of his hand, and pressed hers against the laces of her dress. “Yes, I think so.”

He tugged once on his jacket and held out his arm for her to take before pushing open the door to her room. They walked the long hall together, his stride slowed to match hers, with the thump of his cane the only sound she could hear save for her own breathing. At the top of the stairs her heart started to pound, and she caught him glancing at her sideways as they took the first step in sync. It was endearing, the way he seemed to be looking after her, checking at the smallest sign of discomfort.

The concern from her father had always felt overwhelming, stifling even, and was one of the things that in the aftermath of her mother’s death had pushed them apart. She could understand it, though, that constant need to make sure the one person left in his life, his only child, was safe and well, but he had channeled it into nitpicking what she did with her time, criticizing her choices of friends, and being overbearing about her need to be married and settled. Well, she was that now, at least, and so long as Gold remained as he was, she thought she could tolerate it amiably.

Before she knew it, they were at the door to her father’s study, ready to make their unified confrontation. Gold reached for the brass door handle, and then paused, casting another sidelong look at her.

“What are you going to say to him?” she asked.

Gold shrugged lightly. “He’s your father, and this is your family’s home. I thought I should defer to you.”

Belle blinked. “Oh...all right then.”

She looked forward again, squaring her shoulders, as he pushed the door open.

Maurice startled and spun on his heel, turning away from the large window where he’d been gazing out into the small garden bordered by a short hedge and a now barren flower bed. His gaze fixed on her and his face shifted, his mouth curving awkwardly in a smile that seemed more like a grimace.

“Belle,” he said, fidgeting with the cuffs of his coat. “What are you doing here, my girl?”

Belle slipped her arm free of Gold and stepped forward. “We came to talk with you.”

Maurice’s eyes darted to the side, widening as he finally noticed Gold’s presence. 

Gold inclined his head in acknowledgement as his hand tightened around the handle of his cane. “Maurice.”

Belle inserted herself between the two men, pressing her clammy palms to the front of her dress. “I spoke with my husband about Avonlea’s finances.”

Maurice sputtered for a moment, his face going pale as he looked back and forth between them. “Lord Gold, I - I can explain. “Y-you see -”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m not the one who requires an explanation.” He looked pointedly at Belle, who turned to look back at him before facing her father again.

“Belle, petal,” Maurice said, moving to try to take her hands. 

She backed away at the same time Gold came forward, placing a steadying hand on her arm. He could feel the slight change in her stance and the way her shoulders relaxed, her face tipping up to meet her father’s eyes and fix him with a hard stare.

“Please, just let me handle things. Everything will be fine if -”

“Stop it!” Belle’s eyes flashed as she stepped forward, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Don’t patronize me, I’m not stupid. I know what I saw in those ledgers, and if any of that is your idea of _handling_ things, then you might as well sell off the land to the King now. The better to let him sort out how to manage our meager stores through the winter.”

The force of her voice caused Maurice to startle, and Gold had to fight to keep from smiling. 

“I’m so sorry, Belle,” Maurice continued, his shoulders sagging. “I am trying to do my best for Avonlea and you, but the King -”

“Well,” came a voice from the doorway, “isn’t this a nice little family reunion.”

Belle and Gold turned simultaneously to see Milton striding slowly in the room, his hands behind his back and a sneering smile leading the way, and dressed in a garish gold doublet with dark leather breeches and boots adorned with gold buckles. He looked more like a lord in King George’s court than the steward of one of the poorest estates in the kingdom, and Belle frowned.

“Milton,” Maurice said, starting to step forward.

Gold raised his hand, the motion silencing Maurice immediately. “This doesn’t concern you, Steward.”

Milton’s head tilted to the side. “Oh? It sounded to me like you three were discussing the business affairs of the Avonlea estate, which is very much my concern.”

Gold’s eyes narrowed. “Then you should attend to them properly rather than allowing them to become continually indebted to the King.”

Milton was momentarily thrown off by Gold’s blatant admission, but he recovered swiftly and came around to stand between them and Maurice. “They are attended as _His Majesty_ wishes them to be attended.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. She wondered at his emphasis and if the King truly wanted to ruin her family, but before she could dwell on it long, Gold left her side in a rush and stalked towards Milton with such determination that the other man couldn’t move out of the way. Instead, he twisted and tried to back away from the desk only to find himself pinned with the bookcase at his back.

“If King George,” Gold began, his voice sharp and firm, “wants to see these lands so obligated to him that the only choice is to cede them to the royal house, then he will be sorely disappointed when I assert _my_ claim to them!"

“No!” Belle spoke before she could stop herself. 

The shock of what Gold had said and the implication that he would take over her family’s estate so soon after swearing to help her save it. Legally, by order of the Council of Lords, husbands retained rights to the lands of their wife and her family, though most were not exerted if there was an heir or a current ruling lord. For Gold to do so went against everything she had believed him to be and made him just as power hungry as Gaston or the King himself.

Gold turned, pivoting on his heel with his cane planted at his side. He fixed her with a stare, and her eyes flashed with anger as she took a daring step forward, her heels louder than usual on the wood floor. His gaze was almost pleading, and she looked to her father and pressed a hand to her stomach, fisting the laces of her bodice. She wanted to trust Gold, and she had until this moment, but with so much at stake she couldn’t be certain of his motives. She knew so little about them and about him, not the least of which was why he wanted to marry her in the first place. Perhaps it had all been to this end, to expand his influence and wealth.

“Belle…”

She met Gold’s gaze again and swallowed as she took a step back, acquiescing in action instead of word, but Milton had sensed the discord between them and sneered at her. “You see what he is now, my Lady?”

“_Quiet,_” Gold snapped, twisting abruptly towards the Steward. “Your time here is _over._ You will collect whatever things you can carry with you from your quarters, and leave. The rest will be sent -”

“To the royal palace,” Milton interrupted, looking entirely too self satisfied for someone being fired and evicted at the same time. “I’m sure the King will want to hear all about this affair.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Gold leaned in, his jaw tense and his hand gripping the handle of his cane hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Oh?” Milton’s voice rose along with his eyebrows, his tone and expression mocking them all. “The King wouldn’t want to be informed how Lord Maurice bought off a knight and a lord to to cover up his financial incompetence, and his daughter’s shame?” 

In an instant, Gold moved, grabbing a fistful of Milton’s vest and shoving him flat against the bookshelves. Behind him he could hear Belle call out his name, but it was muted by the rush of blood in his ears, his anger overwhelming the sense of civility he’d been barely restraining since the Steward entered the room. He brought his other hand up, still holding the cane and pushing it against the other man’s chest.

“You came from _nothing,_” Milton spat, “And yet you’re the same as the rest of them, aren’t you? Another rich man with your money and games, taking the lands of your wife’s family without so much as a by your leave?”

A low, growling sound slipped out as Gold flashed his teeth and pressed the handle of his cane to Milton’s throat, forcing a choked gasp from the man’s throat. The words were true, he had come from nothing, but he wasn’t playing at any game. He was only trying to protect his family. 

“I will do whatever needs to be done,” he hissed. “It is none of your concern, or the King’s.”  
Milton’s mouth worked, opening wide as he sucked in air, a sickeningly ragged sound that made Belle wince and startled her body into action. She staggered forward, catching herself on the edge of the desk as she watched Milton’s eyes bulge in fear, as though he had finally realized the severity of the situation.

“Cameron, _please!_”

Belle’s voice stunned Gold into releasing Milton, who coughed and sputtered for breath the instant Gold’s cane was removed from his throat.

“Cowing to the little wife already?” 

Milton flashed a sneering smile as he rubbed at his throat. His voice was strained and hoarse, and an angry red line was already rising up across his neck. Belle swallowed and glanced at Gold who’s hard stare and dark eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

“Did you give up more than your seed on your wedding night?” Milton continued, drawing his hand down from his neck. “Did you offer her your balls on a silver platter?”

The steward opened his mouth to speak again, and Gold moved with a flash of agility Belle wouldn’t have believed possible. He lifted his cane out to the side and then swept it across, hitting Milton in the right leg, and knocking it out from under him with a sickening crack. Belle shut her eyes at the sound as she turned away from the calamity.

The motion of Milton’s fall sent him into a small side table on his way to the floor, and when Belle opened her eyes Gold was standing over him, his cane raised over his head. She felt her body start to shake and clenched her hands into fists in her skirt.

“Stop it!”

Belle’s voice startled Gold, who staggered back from Milton as the length of his cane slid through his grip and came to rest at his side. The room was quiet for a long moment as the two stared at each other.

“I think that answers my question.”

“_Milton…_” Gold warned, rounding on him again.

“What? What will you do to me in front of your precious little wife and the lord of these lands? Hmm?” The steward licked his lips, his mouth spreading into a wide, creeping grin as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Then again, I’ve heard the Lady likes brutish men.”

Gold stepped forward, his boots on either side of Milton as he lay on his back against the bookcase and the remains of the table. He planted his cane next to the man’s head, the tip thumping so loud and sharp that Milton winced as though it had come down on him directly.

“Speak about my wife again,” he said evenly, “and it will be your last words.”

Belle pressed a hand to her lips to suppress the sob in the back of her throat. She knew what Milton was trying to say, thinly veiled as it was, and the thought that he knew what had transpired between her and Gaston, that he might even know more than that, perhaps even the truth of how her marriage to Gold came about, made her body tremble.

“Stop,” she managed. “Just stop.” Gold looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide, almost as if he was surprised to see her. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry and her tongue thick in her mouth. “Let him go.”

Gold held her gazed and nodded slowly before using his cane to push away from Milton. He stepped back just enough to allow the Steward to scramble to his feet, who tripped over the leg of the broken table and nearly fell into Gold. He caught himself at the last second and shot a glare at all of them. Then he tried to step around Gold who caught him by the shoulder and held him still. 

“The only reason you are walking out of this room under your own power, you pathetic worm,” Gold said quietly, keeping his voice just between the two of them, “is because of _my wife._ Remember that the next time you think about disrespecting her or any other woman.”

“Well, my Lord,” Milton said, setting his eyes on Maurice as he moved out and around Gold. “I hope you are happy being run off your own land by your _fine_ choice of a son-in-law. Though I suppose you won’t be a vassal much longer. Best get used to Maurice then.”

Maurice bristled at that, and after appearing paralyzed during the earlier ruckus, seemed to have regained his faculties and his anger. “I’m a lord until the King says otherwise, but _you_ are _nothing._ Get your things and leave at once, or I will have the guards do it for you.”

Milton’s lips curled in something that resembled a grimace more than a smile. He looked Maurice up and down and then bowed at the waist in a way that felt mocking and cruel rather than respectful. “As you wish, my Lord.”

He swanned passed Belle on his way to the door, close enough to brush her skirts which made her step to the side. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he gave her a flat smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Perhaps your husband will allow you to rename this place after he steals it out from under your family.”

She whirled on the Steward, her jaw tensing. She could think of no retort so she settled for glaring daggers at his back until the doors closed behind him. If Gold did claim Avonlea as he indicated he would, then Milton was right. It would be effectively stolen from her and her family, and her mother’s legacy would become just another pawn in a political game. It would be a bargaining chip or collateral. There was a pang in her chest and a tightness in her throat at the thought of losing her home. It wouldn’t really be gone, it wasn’t as if the estate and land would be raised and left barren, but it wouldn’t be the same somehow, it would have a change in a way that felt irreversible. But maybe Gold wouldn’t go through with it, maybe it had been some kind of ploy to needle Milton and send a message to King, maybe -

The doors swung closed, thudding and echoing in the room, and startling her from her thoughts. She turned to see Gold looking at her, his face unreadable, and her father, wringing his hands.

“What now?” Maurice asked.

Gold sighed and turned away from Belle. “Now I draw up the necessary papers to cede ownership of Avonlea.”

Belle’s stomach sank and the mix of emotions she’d been holding back since they entered her father’s study spilled over. She cried out abruptly and then muffled the rest of the sound with her hand pressed over her mouth. Gold looked to her again, and upon seeing her, immediately came towards her, his hand outstretched.

She backed away quickly, almost stumbling on the edge of the rug when the heel of her shoe caught. “No.” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling two wet trails down either cheek. “You can’t. You - you promised!”

Gold tried to come closer, but she kept moving away from him. “It’s for the best, Belle, just let me -”

“Let you take my family’s home?” she shouted. “Let you - you ruin us further? Let my father be the laughing stock of the kingdom, and shame me all over again?”

His face looked stricken at her words as his steps became uneven. “No, that’s not what this is. Please -”

Belle shook her head and shot a cold, harsh look at her father. “Well done, Papa.”

“Petal -”

She raised both her hands and Maurice’s voice trailed off as they dropped to her sides. Without another word, she spun on her heel and rushed out of the room. A second later, she heard the doors open and Gold call out for her, but her quick steps hastened into a near run as she hurried away from the study and back to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured that any strife between Gold and Belle will be reasonably short lived. I know he looks like an ass right now, but he's got a plan.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the incident with Milton, Gold makes peace with Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me with two updates! :D I hope after the chaos of the last chapter that you all find this one a bit cheerier.

Gold watched as Milton climbed into the back of the carriage.

He had a noticeable limp that he was doing his best to mask, but Gold had experience with such things and the awkward movement of the man’s leg was a dead giveaway. The box lurched forward, and Milton wobbled in his seat, which made Gold smile. He hoped the road was riddled with ruts and holes the entire way to the palace. A bruised backside and stiff limbs was the least the bastard deserved for the way he spoke about Belle, and for the blatant disrespect he’d shown to Maurice. There was no doubt some associating between Milton and the King or he would have never dared make such comments. Gold would have Jefferson put a man on it as soon as they returned to Thornhill.

Sighing, he turned away from the window and eyed the paper on the desk. It was a standard land contract awaiting the relevant signatures, but just looking at it gave him a sick feeling. Later, Maurice would sign one side and he would sign the other, and Avonlea would become part of his entitlement, effectively transferring all debts, leases, and rights, and blocking King George from whatever he’d been plotting to do with it. Normally, he would feel a rather smug satisfaction at that, but instead there was only a hollow guilt that his last minute plan had upset Belle. He didn’t blame her, and if he had been in her place he would have been angry as well, but she had left before he could fully explain his proposition.

He had hoped to do that sooner rather than later, but when he’d gone to her quarters after lunch she was nowhere to be found. A maid informed him that she had taken Baeden for a tour of the grounds, which pleased him, but also delayed the inevitable. He was thankful that she hadn’t been so out of sorts that she was keeping to her room, but he knew that the longer he waited to explain himself, the worse the outcome might be.

He smiled ruefully and slipped the contract into his ledger book, and tucked it under his arm before taking up his cane. The first step around the desk had him sucking in a breath as the stabbing pain in his leg traveled up from his ankle and knee, and radiated across his hip. Attacking Milton had been foolish for multiple reasons, including that it had exacerbated his condition. His knuckles went white as he gripped the handle of his cane tight, breathing slowly through the sensation until it subsided.

Once it had, he took a cautious step and was met with only the usual ache and stiffness. Letting out another heavy sigh, he left to find Maurice.

* * *

Gold dropped his ledger on the desk with a muted thud that seemed much louder than it sounded.

It was done. Avonlea was his, officially, and he hated himself for it. The rest of the process would take some time, and would need the King’s approval, but the first step was done. Getting that royal approval would likely be difficult, particularly if Milton got his story to the King before Gold, but ultimately, George wouldn’t dare withhold it, not if he wanted to remain in power.

Gold knew that continually relying on his knowledge of the King’s secrets to get his way was dangerous, but it was effective. At least it was as long as he was alive. Perhaps there was something he could do about that as well, something to further protect Belle and Bae. He put the thought aside, and checked the time, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to talk to Belle, before deciding that it was best not to wait any longer to face her wrath.

Bae came out of Belle’s room, and Gold stopped in the middle of the corridor, frowning. His son came towards him, shaking his head.

“Whatever you did, Papa,” Bae said, “you should tell Belle you’re sorry.”

Gold smiled. “Well, that’s what I’m here to do.”

Bae nodded. “Good.”

“I heard Belle gave you a tour of Avonlea.”

The boy’s face lit up in a wide grin. “Yes, it was fun! She showed me the garden and the stables, and introduced me to her horse, Philippe.”

His eyes widened. “Her horse?”

Bae nodded again. “He’s big and kinda slow, but she likes him very much. And then we rode out to the cliffs so I could see the ocean!”

Gold nearly fell over. “You - _rode?_ To the cliffs? With - with _Belle?_”

The boy gave him a funny look, as if he had questioned the sky being blue. “Yeah. Why? Am I in trouble?”

He shook his head and patted the boy on the shoulder. “No, no of course not. I’m just - surprised.”

Bae’s head tilted to the side. “Why?”

Belle having a horse was not some great shock, every noble did, and most of them could at least stay on one without falling off. He didn’t understand why the image of Belle riding out on a horse with his son, to the southern cliffs at the edge of Avonlea that looked out over the water, was such a strange thing. He supposed it was because he had never seen her riding, and that because of that he was unsure of her skill on horseback, though he knew she wouldn’t put Bae at risk.

He frowned again. “I - I don’t know, actually.”

Truly he didn’t, and the more he thought about it, the more the notion delighted him. Even if she was cross with him, it clearly didn’t interfere with her relationship with Baeden. Ultimately, that was what mattered.

“Papa, are you coming down for supper?”

Bae blinked up at him, and he nodded. “Yes, uh, I just need to speak to Belle first. We’ll - we’ll come down together, all right?”

The boy bounded off down the hall, and Gold watched with a faint smile before turning to the matter at hand. He hoped that after he said what he needed to say, that his reply to Bae would be the truth.

* * *

Belle was pacing back and forth from the sofa to the window when a knock sounded.

She paused and stared at the door, knowing Gold was on the other side. She had expected him to come to her earlier, which was why she went to find Bae after she’d calmed down. Facing him so soon after the confrontation in the study felt like too much, and she needed to think through what she might say. Walking the grounds with Bae and telling him about her home had been the perfect distraction, but when they rode out to the coast, with the snowing shining around them, it had hit her harder than expected. 

The cliffs had always been a sanctuary for her, a place to retreat to when she needed to be away from the prying eyes of servants and her parents, and, later, a place to be alone with thoughts of her mother. She had always loved the ocean, the sound of the waves and the beauty of the sunset reflected across it, but it was the harshness that spoke to her the most. The water was so dark, especially in the evening or in the short days of winter, and there was no tangible horizon, no soft edges, only a vast and endless void. The ocean didn’t care about anyone. 

Poets might romanticize it, but it was cruelest of all creations, holding a seething, incomprehensible mass of life in its depths, life that it seemed to actively try to extinguish sometimes. There was no mistress like the sea. She’d heard a naval officer say that once, with a tone that spoke of things which could not be described, of places she couldn’t even dream of seeing. It chilled her and soothed her all at once. There would always remain one thing in the world which men could not claim or tame, and she longed for that kind of freedom.

Sighing, she smoothed her hands over her skirt and walked to the door, holding her breath as she pulled it open.

“Belle.”

The way he said her name, with that soft sense of surprise, made her want to smile, but she tamped it down and pressed her lips together, acknowledging him with a sharp nod.

“Cameron.”

Gold winced at her cool tone. “May I come in?”

She stepped back and held the door open, motioning with her hand for him to enter. He moved stiffly, leaning on his cane more obviously than she’d ever seen, and she assumed that his antics with Milton had caused him some discomfort. She wanted to be pleased by that, but she wasn’t. Angry as she was, she still didn’t want him to suffer.

“Can we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the sofa.

She shrugged and came to stand at the opposite end. “You may.”

His shoulders dropped and he seemed to lean forward, bearing his weight on his cane in front of him. “I’ll stand if you are.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at his stubbornness, but she supposed she was no better at the moment. “Fine. Say what you came to say.”

“Belle, please -”

“Please what?” she snapped, her hands going to her hips. “Please excuse me whilst I lie and swindle your family home right out from under you?”

Her words were harsh, but he had resigned himself to deserving them. “That’s not what this is.”

She shook her head. “Well, then I must be stupid, because that’s what it looks like from where I stand.”

“You are far from stupid,” he said, sighing and twisting his cane against the floor.

“Is it done?” She crossed her arms, holding her elbows with her hands.

“Yes.”

His reply was quiet, and she swallowed. Her face felt hot and her head started to throb as she fought back her tears. That was it then. It was all done, without a word from her, without any discussion or explanation.

“I thought it was best to get things in order immediately,” he explained, “before Milton has a chance to tell the King whatever it is he’s going to tell him.”

Belle nodded. “I see.”

She watched as he shifted his weight and squeezed the handle of his cane. He was clearly hurting, and she hated herself for making him continue standing there just because of her own hurt pride. While there were things they hadn’t talked about yet, truths that were deeply held, he had given her no reason to distrust him or his intentions.

Gold huffed and turned away from her for a moment, gritting his teeth as the sharp pain crept back into his leg. “It’s not - I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinking.”

“Then tell me!” she exclaimed, letting out a heavy sigh a moment later and touched a hand to her forehead where a vague throb had started. “Be honest with me. Don’t - don’t tell me you’re going to save my family home, and then snatch it away.” 

He frowned at her. “So you would rather I let the King do the same instead?” 

“No! I - I don’t -” Belle exhaled and 

He looked up, watching as she moved around the end of the sofa and then back against the tufted cushions. She reached out and patted the space beside her. “Please?”

He gave her a small, grateful smile, and barely suppressed a groan as he sat. His hand rubbed at his upper thigh, pressing into the muscle until the twitching and throbbing abated enough that he could ignore it.

“Are you in pain?”

Her hand covered his, and he nearly jerked away from her touch in surprise. “Only a little.”

The look she gave him conveyed her disbelief, but she didn’t press the issue, and for a long moment they stayed like that, near each other, with her hand on his. He didn’t turn his hand over to hold hers, though he wanted to he didn’t feel he had the right to, not now, not until they had sorted things between them, but her palm was warm and soothing. It was enough for now.

“You scared me,” she said finally, exhaling and pulling her hand back to her own lap. “I was already angry at Milton, and at my father, and when you said -” She took a breath, blowing it out between her lips as she shook her head again. “I’d never seen you like that before, so _angry_ and - and _violent._”

“I know,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on the moonstone ring on his left hand. “Please believe me that had he not said those - those _things_ \- about you -”

“_Don’t,_” Belle interrupted, twisting to look at him. “Not for my sake, _never_ for my sake, not that. All right? I will _not_ have that on my conscience.”

Gold nodded in understanding, though he couldn't promise that his reaction wouldn’t be the same should anyone else decide to harm her. He had very recently become aware that, where Belle was concerned, there were lengths he was willing to go to in order to protect her, and he wasn't entirely certain that it had only to do with her commitment to Bae.

She shifted closer and frowned. “He didn’t hurt me, all right? What he said -” 

Her mouth felt dry as the words replayed in her head, the implications, the shame. It didn’t matter what she had or hadn’t done with her husband, which was nothing at all, but to have any of it made public and connected with what happened between her and Gaston was a step too far.

Gold swallowed. “Physically, perhaps not, but words can damage just as easily as my cane.” 

He lifted the aforementioned object and let it drop, the end thudding softly on the rug by his boot. She knew what he meant, but it was still different in her mind. Her faults and secrets were her own, just as his were. Whatever Milton knew, or assumed, it wasn’t worth the effort or energy of beating him senseless, however much he might deserve punishment.

“What will do with it?” she asked, tentatively. “With my - with Avonlea.”

She kept wanting to call it her home, but that wasn’t true anymore. 

“Give it to you.” He shrugged and gave her a quick, sideways glance. “If you want it.”

Belle blinked and leaned back a bit as she stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “Wha - how - um... to me? You’re giving to _me?_”

“Is that a yes?”

His mouth curved slightly, clearly amused by her confusion, and she frowned. “Why?”

“You don’t seriously believe I want it, right?” She looked immediately affronted at the question, and he sighed. “That’s - that’s not what I mean. I mean, I don’t - I don’t want to own it, I don’t want to take it away from your family.”

“Then why - why -” She shook her head, tilting it as she looked at him. “Why do this at all? Why have the papers signed already?”

“So the King wouldn’t beat me to it.” He gave her a small smile. “If he orchestrated any of this, used Milton to push your father into more debt... I didn’t want to risk it, and I knew the law was on my side. My claim would have the highest standing.”

He shrugged, and twisted the cane in his hands, sliding them back and forth and making it spin against his palms until Belle’s hand came to rest on the handle, making him stop.

“You think he would do that? Send Milton to - what? - to give my father ill financial advice?” She huffed, her lips pursing as she pulled her hand away from his cane. “That seems so - _convoluted_ \- so much effort for something that was bound to happen on its own.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted. “You think?”

She matched his expression, and then let her gaze drift to the fireplace. “I love my father, but I know he’s not very good at running an estate, especially not one so large. My mother, she - she was the one who kept him straight, who knew how everything needed to be done. She understood how to estimate the crop yields, how the land leases were managed, all of it.”

The smile she gave him was sad, and he didn’t miss the way her lips wavered as she spoke.

“And she passed that knowledge on to you, didn’t she?” he asked, quietly.

Belle’s gaze met Gold’s. “Some of it, yes.”

He smiled fully then and reached for her hand. “Then it shall be yours.”

“You - you can do that?” She glanced down at his fingers as they curled over hers, holding them gently.

“Yes,” he replied simply, pleased when her hand turned over to hold his. In that moment he felt a sense of forgiveness, and the relief it brought was stronger than he’d expected, like an unwinding of something in the center of his chest.

She licked her lips and looked up at him. “How?”

“Your father has signed Avonlea over to me, so as of a half hour ago, I am the legal Lord of this estate.” He took a breath, her gaze inscrutable and making him shift in his seat. “As such, I have the legal right to name a Steward, which can be you if you like. And when I - when I die -” 

He paused to clear his throat, pushing past the lump that had formed once he acknowledged what must inevitably happen for Belle to retain her family home. She squeezed his hand, and the look on her face was strangely stricken.

“When I die, I may bequeath these lands unto any of my heirs. Including my wife,” he continued. “But until then, you may help me make all the decisions where Avonlea is concerned.”

Gold returned the pressure on her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. She could scarcely believe his words. There were only two women who were positioned as the legal executives of their own estates, left to them by their late husbands, who had passed without children. Lady Ghorm, a severe and eccentric woman Belle couldn’t stand the sight of, and Countess De Vil, of whom there were untold rumors stories of the wild, unhinged parties she was fond of throwing every season.

She managed a nod. “You’d just - give it to me? Like that? You wouldn’t keep it for Bae?”

He nodded. “Bae won’t need it. He’ll have Thornhill and other assets, and I think - I _know_ \- he would want you to have it.”

Her chest rose and fell slowly as she took a steadying breath. She would have Avonlea, her mother’s wish would come true, and in the meantime he said she could be the Steward if she liked, and make all the decisions. She could run her own estate, even without it being fully hers, something she’d been trying to do for her father for years. It felt so overwhelming that even contemplating it was threatening to give her a throbbing headache.

She twisted on the cushion to face Gold, her lips pressed together as she tried to summon the right words to express what she was feeling. In the end she settled for something easier, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

Gold sputtered and let out a soft cry of surprise as Belle practically leapt at him and gripped him in a fierce embrace. She was warm and soft, and her skirts were covering his lap as she shifted closer, pressing her knees to his thigh. He felt her fingers brush his hair where it lay over the back of his collar, sending a tingle down his spine, and breathed in the scent of her perfume. Her actions were so intimate and startling that by the time he made his own arms move enough to return it, she was already withdrawing. 

She leaned back, keeping her hands on his shoulders which kept her face near his, and smiled widely. He looked utterly shocked, and she bit her lip as the realization of what she’d done sunk in. Abruptly, she pulled her hands away and she shifted back on the sofa, putting some space between them.

“Sorry, I -” She shook her head again.

“No, don’t be,” he said quickly, fighting the urge to close the short distance she’d reestablished between them. He was almost as surprised at how much he missed her proximity as he was at the embrace itself.

Belle wiped at her eyes which had begun to feel watery, and blew out a breath. “Sorry, um, we should - we should speak to my father, yes?”

Gold nodded. “Tomorrow, after breakfast, the three of us will review all the ledgers and papers. We’ll get a full accounting of everything, and we can decide where to go from there.”

“Good,” she replied, giving him another small smile. “Good.”

“Now,” said Gold, using his cane to push himself to his feet. “I promised Bae before I came here that I would apologize to you, and that we would join him for dinner. So to that end, I am very sorry for upsetting you, my Lady, and I most humbly beg your forgiveness.”

He offered her his arm and a cheeky grin, and she smiled as she stood, laying her hand over his forearm. “Apology accepted.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle recalls a pivotal event in her engagement with Gaston, and then talks plans with Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is one I have been dreading because it starts to get into Belle's backstory, her relationship with Gaston, how it ended, etc., and a portion of what is coming is very personal for me and a large reason I started writing this story. I want to emphasize that while Gaston is definitely a jerk and did not do what he should have done in this situation, it's not as clear cut a case of sexual assault or anything else that it may appear on the surface. There are more things at play, and things going on with Belle that lead to this which will be coming out in the next chapter or two.
> 
> **Please note the tag updates.**

_Eight months ago..._

Belle’s back hit the bookshelves beside her writing desk, rattling the oil lamp, and sending one of her pens rolling down to the chair.

She turned her head in time to see it hit the cushion just before Gaston’s arm came up to brace next to her head. Her eyelids fluttered as he pressed his mouth to her neck, a pleasant tingle rippling down her spine. He pulled back, smiling at her, and she bit her lip.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

His head tilted. “We are to be married in a month, so what does it matter?”

She licked her lips, her eyes searching his, uncertain of what she was hoping to find there. Gaston was everything she wanted, at least on the surface. He was handsome, wealthy, and in good standing with the rest of the kingdom, having been raised to the knighthood only a few weeks ago. When her father had proposed the idea of marriage to Sir Gaston, she had thought it to be as good a match as she could hope for, if not better. Yet it felt like there was a piece missing.

They’d been engaged for a few months, and aside from a few kisses, they hadn’t been this physical. She wasn’t against it, personally, though some in society frowned on the behavior, but while his kisses had begun to stir something in her, it was hard to push aside her reservations and give herself over to whatever pleasure there might be. It had always been a trial for her in that area, and she worried that in spite of what she might want to do in her head, her body would once again decide otherwise.

“Belle.” He caught her chin with his finger and made her look up at him.

The angle was awkward, and she thought perhaps he might be just a little too tall for her, however statuesque that made his figure. After a long moment, she gave a little nod and pushed up on her toes, sealing her lips to his. He took it as an invitation for more, and before she knew what was happening, he had started to lift her skirts.

Startled, she pulled back, her hands flat against his chest. “Wait -” She panted for breath. “Wait.”

Gaston frowned and shifted his other hand around to her backside, squeezing it roughly. “I’ve been waiting, Belle. I’ve been very patient.”

He mouthed at her neck, wetly, and she made a face into his shoulder. There was another brief jolt of pleasure and then something else, a pressure low in her abdomen that she wanted to ignore, and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. His hand spanned her thigh above her stocking, his thumb rubbing over the muscle that twitched beneath it, before moving higher and pulling at the laces on her drawers.

She gasped when she felt them loosen and slip down, and Gaston whispered something lewd in her ear that she barely heard. Her breathing increased, and she squeezed her legs together at the first touch of his fingers. He was still kissing her, moving along her jaw and her neck, and knocking against her chin, hushing her and asking her to open her legs. She frowned and tried to relax, shifting her thighs apart, willing to let it happen in the hopes that this time would be different, this time it would be good.

Then his fingers breached her folds and -

“Stop!”

Belle grabbed for her drawers, pulling them up all the way as Gaston stepped back. He was holding his hand up, looking between it and her, while she clutched at her stomach. The ache was already beginning to subside, but she knew he’d felt it too. He came towards her and she tried to step back, but ended up hitting the shelves and forcing the breath from her chest.

“What was - what was that?”

She buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”

Gaston made a face and stared down at her. “Belle, just - just let me try again.”

She started to sob, already imagining how this would further ruin her family. “I can’t. It - it hurts too much.”

He leaned in, pressing against her thigh and hip. His arousal was a hard ridge and the thought of it in place of his hand scared her. Her muscles clenched again and she winced, holding up a hand to keep him back.

Belle hesitantly looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching for her skirt again. “I can fix it, I’ll make it good for you.”

He lifted her skirts, his hands pulling at the fabric as he pushed against her. Pain radiated out from her lower abdomen, making her want to bend in half, but his weight pressing into her prevented it. She wanted to want him, but it was hard to find the pleasurable feelings from earlier behind the sharp ache. Her face turned away from his as he tried to kiss her again, and her eyes landed on the writing desk. 

“I can’t,” she repeated.

A silver letter opener stuck up out of a slot at the top, its pearl handle shimmering in the late summer light, and she reached for it.

* * *

Belle shivered as the memory faded and rubbed her arms, wishing she’d worn a long sleeved dress today or through to bring her shawl.

Outside there was a fresh, thick blanket of snow from a storm that passed through overnight. She’d watched it with Bae and Gold after dinner last night, the three of them sitting together on the sofa in the sitting room that overlooked the garden. She read aloud to them, from a book about a young boy who could talk to horses. Bae liked it so much he made her promise they would bring it back with them to Thornhill, and that she would read it a chapter to him every night until it was finished, though she was of a mind to nudge the boy into reading some himself.

It had been so cozy and perfect, with the crack of the fire and their bellies full of hearty winter stew, roasted vegetables, and warm bread. Gold kept stealing looks at her over Bae’s head where he sat between them, his expression pleased, but tinged with something she couldn’t read. It was easy to imagine many future nights that way, like they were a real family.

Sighing, she moved back to the sofa and sat down in front of the fire. It had been many months since she’d thought about that fateful night with Gaston which had set so many things in motion. Her actions in the moment were impulsive and rash, but she didn’t regret them, not even now that she knew what ruin they had brought upon Avonlea.

Gold had met her for breakfast that morning, and they’d gone to her father immediately after to get the true story of the state of the financial affairs of the estate. To his credit, Maurice was equal parts forthcoming and repentant. He confessed King George had ordered him to take Milton as the new steward, though he didn’t know why at the time. The unmarked payments were to Sir Gaston, to keep the details of the abruptly cancelled engagement quiet.

Belle had exchanged quite a look with Gold at that revelation, and she understood that at some point she would need to lay bare most of the details, though she hoped to keep her own shame a secret. The finances were as bad as she had suspected, with the payments to Gaston increasing in frequency after her marriage to Gold instead of decreasing.

That had made Gold angry, and for a moment she thought he might put his cane through a window, or worse yet, her father, but he reigned in his rage and directed his energy towards setting out a plan to put things right. First, the extortion payments to Gaston would cease, and instead be directed towards paying down the debt to the King. That had made her father very nervous, and the two men had argued back and forth for some time before she couldn’t take it anymore and raised her voice to make them stop.

The very existence of the payments made her furious. As if what had happened between them wasn’t bad enough, Gaston had to use it to cover up his own guilt in the matter, and hasten Avonlea’s insolvency. 

Second, Gold would provide a stipend to cover the rest of the existing debt, thus making it appear that the situation was better than it was. Gold wouldn’t be taking on the full account himself, but it made Belle uneasy. She didn’t want to feel even more obligated towards her husband than she already was, though it was for purely prideful reasons than any belief she had that Gold might call on that obligation. 

There was no way to ever repay him if he did.

“There you are.”

The sound of Gold’s voice made her smile a little, and she twisted in her seat to see him standing in the doorway of the library. He pushed off the frame and came towards her, his limp the most pronounced she’d ever seen it, even after half carrying her through the snow.

“Were you looking for me?” she asked.

He shrugged one shoulder and came to stand by the end of the sofa. “You didn’t join us for lunch, and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She exhaled and fixed her gaze on the fire. “I’m fine.”

The noise he made was somewhere between a grunt and a scoff as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you certain?”

Belle gave him a sideways glance and nodded as she idly rubbed her arms. “As certain as I can be of anything.”

“Cold?” Gold asked, stepping around the sofa.

She sighed. “It’s just a chill. This room was always a bit drafty in the winter.”

He set his cane against the edge of the sofa, and then proceeded to undo the buttons on the front of his coat. She looked up at him, almost startled, and he smiled down at her as he slipped his arms out of the heavy wool sleeves and set the coat over her shoulders. Then he gave her a half smile and sat down at the other end of the sofa, a full cushion between them. 

“Thank you,” she said, adjusting the fabric over her shoulders.

He’d done the same thing after rescuing her from nearly freezing to death in the garden not even two days ago, but she’d been too upset and bewildered to comprehend the significance of it. She was wrapped in something that had been warmed by the heat of his body, and there was an intimacy to it that was surprisingly comfortable, as though he made a habit of wearing it only so she could later use it to ward off a chill. 

The coat smelled faintly of sandalwood, which she knew was mixed into some of the soaps at Thornhill as there were some in her bathing room as well. It was something she’d come to associate with him, along with a hint of spice and something earthy that reminded her of a forest after a rain. It was odd that she should have thought so much about it, but now that it was surrounding her she couldn’t help it.

“I get the impression you don’t entirely approve of my plan for the estate’s finances?”

His voice almost startled her, and she lifted her face, hoping he had not noticed her surreptitiously sniffing his coat. “Well, I don’t think it’s as simple as me approving or disapproving. It’s - it’s complicated.”

“Much like your relationship with Gaston was.”

She shot him a quick look, and then sighed. "I know I owe you an explanation, and -"

"No," Gold interrupted, "you owe me nothing, except what we've already agreed to as it pertains to Bae." 

She met his eyes, hesitantly, and he shifted closer, reaching for her hand. 

"But if you want to tell me what happened, I will listen. Please understand that it will make no difference in how I handle this business. A broken engagement, whatever the circumstances, is no cause for blackmail."

He pulled back, the gentle, warm pressure of his hand leaving hers, and she missed it immediately. There was a grounding reassurance in the way he sought out her touch in these moments, anchoring them to each other, but he always let go a little too soon.

"I worry what might happen once Gaston realizes the money has stopped," she said. 

Gold nodded. "It will be another month at least before then, but I do share your concern.”

She shook her head and fiddled with the fat brass button on the cuff of his coat. “What can we do?”

“I believe Gaston can be dealt with,” he answered. “I have someone looking into him.”

His cryptic reply made her raise an eyebrow as she twisted in her seat to face him. “Looking into him?”

“Yes.” He saw the twitch of her lips and started to smile. “I like to know as much as I can about my enemies.”

Belle’s eyes widened as she sat back. “Enemies? Gaston is your enemy?”

Gold met her gaze, and her breath caught. His face was stern and his eyes dark; he looked exactly as he did right before he’d attacked Milton, a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t directed at her, but it still frightened her all the same until he looked away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“He has done harm to you and your family,” he said, “therefore yes, he is my enemy.” Then he sighed heavily, and his shoulders sagged. “I suspect some of this is my fault, so must the remedy be mine as well.”

She frowned and reached for him, placing her hand on his forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “How do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I have taken some advantage of the situation,” he said, softly, keeping his eyes fixed on his cane as he idly twisted it back and forth. “I suspect that the King became quite disgruntled when he heard I would be marrying you, and thus assuming the estate’s debts.”

Belle let out a soft humorless laugh. “I would believe the latter over the former, but why would he care? Why does he want - “ She stopped and pressed her lips together, emotion rising up in her again at the thought of losing Avonlea. “Why - why here?”

Gold shrugged and sat back, reaching for her free hand as she looked away, swiping quickly at her eyes with the other. “I haven’t sussed out why this estate has become particularly desirable to him, but it won’t happen. I promise.”

His last words made her turn again, and she gave him a wobbly smile. “I know,” she managed. “I - I trust you.”

His face changed then, softening even as he held her hand a little tighter, his thumb rubbing over the simple gold band he’d given her on their wedding day, and she was hit with a revelation. She believed what she’d said. She trusted him, in a way that suddenly seemed implicit and enduring, as though she’d had years to come to the realization.

“When, um - when we get back,” she said, watching the steady motion of his thumb sliding back and forth, “after things are settled with our plans, we need to talk. About things. Do you understand?”

Her eyes met his and she had to bite back a gasp. He looked almost awed, and yet terrified at the same time, and for a long moment she worried that she’d said the wrong thing, that he didn’t understand at all. Then he lifted their joined hands, bringing hers to his lips where he pressed them to her ring, much more firmly than the last time he’d done so. Something had changed, but she couldn't say what, only that she felt warm and flushed head to toe, the chill of the library little more than an afterthought, as he smiled at her.

“Yes,” he said finally, her hand still wrapped in his, “I do.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Thornhill, Gold is introspective, and Belle makes a confession to Jefferson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me. :) For my August Writer’s Month prompt: None of this is your fault. This was finished hastily after 9 o'clock at night, so it's likely a hot mess. Sorry.

They stayed until the end of the week, then departed for Thornhill after breakfast.

Baeden chose to sit next to Belle, which seemed to please her greatly. Gold listened quietly while they chatted about what they might do on their next visit to Avonlea, and smiled to himself at the lovely picture they painted. She was intelligent, kind, and possessed just enough adventurous spirit to delight a child. The way she had taken to both Bae and Grace had soothed something inside him and assuaged his fears of his son’s future. In truth she was everything Gold would have chosen for a mother for Bae if he could have. Instead, he’d chosen as poorly as his own father, though it had worked out in the end, so far.

He realized, as Bae was talking excitedly about how he and Belle could go riding together in the spring, that he was much happier now than he had ever been with his first wife, Milah, in a way that had nothing to do with his increased station and wealth. They had been ill suited for each other from the start, and it did no good to dwell on the past when his present was so much improved.

Predictably, Baeden fell asleep about an hour into the journey, lulled by the steady rocking of the carriage and the rhythm of the horses hooves. It had been so since he was a small boy, and Gold smiled as his son’s head lolled to the side and came to rest against Belle’s shoulder. She met Gold’s eyes and smiled back at him, then fixed her gaze out the window. 

He felt as though he should say something, but he was unsure of what for the moment. So much seemed to have happened in the ten days they’d spent at Avonlea that he didn’t know where to begin considering it all. He worried that his impulsive actions would cause more harm than good if Gaston could not be controlled. Dealing with the King would be bad enough, and he hoped that Jefferson’s contacts had produced fruitful information where Belle’s former fiance was concerned.

After his discussion with Belle in the library, he penned a letter to Jefferson appraising him of the situation, including the dismissal of Milton and the somewhat accidentally acquired estate, and sent it off that afternoon to Thornhill. That evening, Belle approached him with the idea of instating the recently retired captain of the guard, Desmond, as the temporary steward. Apparently, the man hated Milton, and had been like an uncle to Belle for much of her life. That he was the first person Belle thought of, and that she trusted him with something so sacred to her, was enough for Gold to agree.

The idea made Maurice happy as well, and perhaps Desmond was who Maurice would have chosen had the King not forced Milton on him. While Gold knew that Belle would have preferred to take the job on herself, it would have been too difficult while also living hours away at Thornhill. Regret settled heavy in his chest at the knowledge that he had taken her from her home and forced a life on her that she would never have chosen for herself. Though his reasons seemed acceptable at the time, now that he knew her better, he could see she deserved far more. He could only hope to leave her with the security to do whatever she wished in the future.

Saving Avonlea and gifting it back to her was the least she deserved from him.

Belle turned away from the window and the passing landscape as they came down the first hill and began to wind their way through the valley that marked the northern edge of Avonlea. 

“Was it true?” she asked, waiting until he met her gaze. “What Milton said in - in my father’s study?”

He shifted in his seat and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He said -” she paused and looked sideways at Bae as if to make sure he was asleep, and when she spoke her voice was even softer than before. “He said that you came from nothing, and I - I know I have no right to pry, but I was curious if it was true, or something he was using to provoke you.”

Gold looked down at his hands and sighed, idly twisting his ring. “Yes. Yes, its - it’s true.”

When he glanced up, Belle was watching him, her eyes darting from his fingers to his face. “Was that ring something you had made, or - or did -”

“I already owned it,” he interrupted. “I’ve worn it for years on my other hand, and it just seemed like the thing to do to move it to the appropriate place when I married.”

She fidgeted with the fringed edge of her cloak, trailing the twisted strings through her fingers over and over. “Ah.”

“Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask.” Belle lifted her eyes to his, her lips pressed together, and he smiled as he leaned back against the carriage seat. 

“You asked if what Milton said was true, that I came from nothing, and I answered that it was,” he continued. “Yet suddenly you were interested in the origins of my ring. I don’t believe that’s what you meant to ask.”

She waited as Bae shifted in his sleep and leaned the other way, and exchanged a look with Gold as the boy let out a soft snuffle. “I didn’t think it was my place to ask more than that, but I’m sure there’s a story there.”

“Does it matter?” His voice was soft as his gaze shifted to the window.

“No.”

Then she did something that startled him, and pushed up off her seat to pivot and drop down next to him. His eyes went wide as he looked her up and down, and she laughed softly, reaching for his hand.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she said, folding her fingers around his. Her eyes lifted to his as she squeezed his hand gently. “Truly.”

He nodded, knowing that even if it did, she likely wouldn’t say so. “Very well, the shortest version is I was poor and an outcast, I did my best to escape my situation, with some success. Now I’m quite wealthy, and still something of an outcast, though I think I prefer it that way.”

His smile was wry, and she shook her head. “I think I might like to hear the longer version sometime.”

“And so you shall,” he replied as a flushed, tight feeling crept up his neck.

They were quiet after that, and his thoughts wandered back to the last time they had made this trip, the first time, just a couple of months ago after they were married. They had sat the same way, side by side in the carriage, though at the time it had been because of the roughness of the road. This time she had chosen to sit with him, and hold his hand with seemingly no intention of letting go. He swallowed hard and watched as the rooftops of the village of Longbourne faded from view.

* * *

Jefferson hurried down the corridor, gripping a letter in his right hand.

Astrid passed by him, giving him a strange, sideways glance as she pressed her lips together and forewent any sort of greeting. He wondered at what his expression must look like, and blew out a breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. As he approached Belle’s book room, he paused to tuck the letter into his coat, and then ran his hand through his hair, hoping it wasn’t sticking up or curling madly as it had a tendency to do.

Belle was sitting in the window seat at the far end of the room, basking in the late morning sun with a book propped on her knees and a knit blanket over her legs. The sunlight made her hair glow with hints of red and gold, and the frost gathered at the corners of the window framed her exquisitely, as though nature had gone out of its way to make her appear even more beautiful. 

Jefferson caught himself smiling, and shook his head. How Gold could see such a woman, know of the intelligence and charm she possessed, and still be determined to keep her at arms length, desiring her as no more than a guardian for his son, he was unable to comprehend. Were he in Cameron Gold’s shoes, he wouldn’t even try, but then neither of them had managed any luck in love. Perhaps Milah had put Gold off the notion entirely.

He thought his friend rather foolish for even trying, but aside from a little prodding and teasing, it wasn’t necessarily his place to question it.

“Here you are,” he said, finally entering the room.

Belle closed her book, and looked up, smiling. “Did you expect me to be somewhere else?”

“Well, I hear you’re now responsible for an entire estate, so one wouldn’t dare to assume where you would be.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled, and reached out, beckoning him to come over. He crossed the space, and took hold of her hand, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it.

“Good heavens, my Lady, your fingers are freezing!” She laughed, and he held them between his warm palms, squeezing them gently. “This window is too drafty for sitting.”

“Nonsense,” she said, slipping her hand from his and swinging her legs down from her perch. She patted the space beside her, inviting him to sit with her.

“And how did you like your visit at Avonlea?” he asked, pushing himself back against the molding. “I heard it was quite..._eventful._”

Belle sighed. “That is a way of putting it, I suppose. I am glad I went, though, very glad.”

“Good,” Jefferson replied. “And I have every confidence that things will be sorted and to rights soon.”

“I pray you are right,” she said, absently running her fingers over the cover of her book.

“There is a matter we need to speak about, however.”

She looked up, her eyebrows lifted in question, and after a long moment she set her book aside and fixed her full attention on Jefferson.

“Shortly after you arrived here,” he began, “Gold asked me to look into a few matters, as they related to you and your former fiance.”

“What?” She pushed herself back, sitting upright against the other side of the window seat to face Jefferson more directly.

He retrieved the letter from his jacket and held it out for her, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen. She hesitated before taking it and examined the addressing on the outside and the broken wax seal. It had been sent from Meryton, a port town near the capital that had become a center of trade and commerce in the last decade since King George took the throne. It also happened to be where his family had originally hailed from. With Meryton’s growth and prosperity, came all the ills of a larger city, and she wondered at what it could have to do with Gaston.

She looked up at Jefferson, frowning. “What matters? I don’t understand.”

Jefferson sighed. “There are additional details in those pages, but essentially…” He paused to collect his thoughts, trying to discern how he could tell Belle the truth without it upending anything. “When Gold was at the palace several weeks ago, he happened to hear a few distasteful..._rumors._”

“About me,” she added, and he nodded reluctantly. “But that was over a month ago, why am I only just now hearing about this?”

“Before we dared convey them to you, Gold asked that I look into them.”

Her face shifted and she fixed him with a hard stare. “Why? Because he believed they might be true?”

He rolled his head back for a moment, regretting the turn the conversation was already taking. “No, no, it’s not like that. We -”

Belle pushed to her feet and faced him with a hand on her hip as she gestured with the letter. “Then what is it like? Because it sounds to me as if I was assumed to be _guilty_ of something.”

Jefferson sat forward. “No one assumed anything, I swear it. But we - we had to know.” He sighed and shook his head. “We had to know what story Gaston was telling, or we couldn’t do anything about it. We were trying to protect you.”

She huffed and turned away from him, her face warm with anger. “I’m so _very_ tired of being protected as if everyone else knows what’s best for me.”

“Noted,” Jefferson said under his breath, and Belle faced him again. “It was not meant as a slight to you.”

Sighing, she looked down at the letter in her hand and came to sit next to him again. “Do I want to know what this contains?”

He shrugged. “Probably not, but you deserve to know what’s being said about you, as much as you deserve to have a say in what we do about it.”

“Does Cameron know?”

Jefferson nodded solemnly and reached out, tapping the envelope with his finger. “He’s the one who broke the seal. We discussed it last night after you all returned from Avonlea.”

“And you have read it as well?” Another nod, and she bit her lip as she eyed the nondescript wax seal, now cracked in half and slowly crumbling from the paper. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

He laid his hand over hers giving it a soft squeeze until she looked up. “Whatever you decide, it will be dealt with. Gaston will not - ”

“What if I don’t want it to be?” she interrupted. “What if I just want to forget about Gaston, and move on with my life?”

Jefferson inclined his head. “Given that he’s part of the problem with your estates’ situation, I don’t think that’s possible.” Belle nodded as she sighed, her eyes drifting back to the letter, he worried that his next question might put her off completely. “Belle, what - what happened between you and Gaston?”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a long moment before she set the letter aside. It wasn’t the way she’d planned on telling the story, or the person she’d intended to tell it to, but she felt she could trust Jefferson as much as she could trust Gold. He had become a friend to her as well, and if he was to help them through this, then he needed to know the particulars.

“We, um,” she started, and then stopped as her mind weighed how much detail was necessary. “We broke the engagement.”

Jefferson let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “Apparently.”

She shrugged and smiled at him, the levity which he chose to find her words providing some relief as she settled back into the niche. “Things were already bad when Gaston came into the picture. There was one loan from King George, that I knew of, and a second that I found out about later. Not to mention all the - _questionable_ \- debits in the ledgers.”

They exchanged a look, and she felt satisfied that he knew enough of what they had discovered in Avonlea that she did not need to go into great detail on how dire the accounting of the estate had become.

“And along came Gaston?” Jefferson inquired. “A rich knight in shining armor?”

Belle made a face, and shook her head. “Hardly. Rich, maybe. A knight, _technically,_ but that’s about where it ends. His father is a cousin to the King, as you know, and along with being sent Milton, my father was also sent a strong suggestion that he agreed to the betrothal.”

She glossed over the discussions with her father about the engagement, and kept her feelings on being sold like a prize horse to herself as she told the story how things came to end with Gaston. When it came to the fateful events in the library she almost couldn’t make it through, but Jefferson’s hand covered hers, grounding and reassuring as she stumbled through.

“Belle, did he - ?” Jefferson didn’t dare say the words and pressed his lips together.

“No,” she said, squeezing his fingers with hers. “No, it wasn’t like that. It - it was mutual, at first, but then he - he did something that hurt, and I - I didn’t handle it well.”

Jefferson frowned. “How did you handle it?”

“I stabbed him with a letter opener.”

A sputtering noise escaped Jefferson’s mouth, and Belle’s gaze jumped to his face. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed, tongue tied with confusion and the urge to ask a hundred different questions.

“W-what?” he managed. “You, um, you -”

She shrugged, her face flushing with embarrassment. “I wanted to get away, and he wasn’t letting me. We were right next to my writing desk, and I saw it and reached for it.”

Jefferson blinked. “And you stabbed him?” She nodded. “Uh, w-where, uh, where did you…?”

“In the leg,” she said quietly. “It - it was the easiest to hit.”

Jefferson blew out a breath and ran his free hand through his hair. “I, um, I’m not sure what to say.”

Belle sighed. “You don’t have to say anything. I know I did something terrible, but -”

“No!” He stood abruptly, and faced Belle. “No, Belle. None of this is your fault. You were defending yourself. He was in the wrong. And even if there was any fault of yours, extorting your father and the entire estate is inexcusable.”

Her eyes started to water as she nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave her a handkerchief from his pocket, and knelt down in front of her as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Please don’t blame yourself for this. There’s plenty of it to go around, but none of it is on you. Your father is a good man, but he made mistakes, and Gaston and his family knew that and took advantage of the situation. And of you.”

Belle reached for him, her hand finding purchase on his shoulder as she held the kerchief to her chest. “You’re the first person I’ve told,” she admitted. “My father knows something happened between us, as does Astrid, but they don’t know any particulars. I’m not sure they would agree I’m as innocent as you believe.”

He reached up and put his hand over hers, slipping it off his shoulder to hold it between them. “Then they would be wrong.” 

At her wobbly smile, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand. His gaze and his smile were so kind and reassuring, that Belle felt a rush of affection and friendship blooming in her heart. Jefferson had become quite dear to her, even in these short months at Thornhill, and it gave her hope that this would be a place she could find a new peace and happiness.

“You should talk to Gold about this,” Jefferson added.

“Yes,” she agreed. “The right moment just hasn’t presented itself yet.”

“You may have to make the right moment. He is unlikely to ask as I did.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand again. “Thank you, again. I feel...better, now that I’ve told someone else.”

“You’ve been carrying quite a burden, Belle,” he said, straightening and pushing upright. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’ll deal with Gaston, and put things to rights.”

Belle stood and pushed up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Jefferson’s cheek. His eyebrows lifted as he gave her an amused look. He opened his mouth to say something, which she was sure would have made her laugh, but a sound from the doorway startled both of them. They turned, their hands still joined, and faced a very wide eye Astrid.

Astrid let out a squeak, then clamped a hand over her mouth as she stared at the two of them. “Sorry!”

Belle stepped forward. “Astrid -”

“M-my lady,” the maid stuttered, “I - I’m sorry. I came to see if you wanted tea, and to tell you a letter arrived from Lady Ariel, but - but - I'm sorry!”

She gave a quick curtsy and hurried out into the corridor as Belle called out her name. She made it barely five steps before she almost collided with Lord Gold, who was coming down the hall from his room. 

“Astrid,” Gold said, “Is Lady Belle in her room?”

Astrid, pointed back behind her, towards the book room, and stammered out a string of nonsense, before all but running down the back stairs towards the kitchens. Gold stared after her, bewildered by what she said, of which he only understood the word ‘sorry’ and something about Jefferson. He shook his head, putting the excitable young maid out of his mind, and came to stop in the doorway of Belle’s book room.

Belle and Jefferson were standing by the window seat, talking closely. He was holding her by the arm, and she was turned into him, nodding at whatever it was he was saying. They both look up at the same time, and seemed surprised to find Gold standing there, watching them.

Gold swallowed and looked back at the direction Astrid had gone, wondering what she had been trying to tell him. Jefferson said his name, and he suddenly felt as though he’d stumbled into something he shouldn’t have, and took a step back. He couldn’t hear what Belle or Jefferson said over the rush of blood in his ears, and he managed to toss out a hastily apology before stalking back down the corridor in search of his wife’s anxious maid.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation between friends, and a fireside chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my August Writer's Month prompt #3: I couldn't sleep. I hope this makes up for the way the previous chapter ended. Here there be the start of FEELINGS.

“You’re grumpy.”

Gold glared at Jefferson over the edge of his book. “I am not.”

Jefferson let out a soft snort and shook his head as he moved into the room. Gold was sitting in one of the high back chairs in front of the fireplace, his right foot propped up on a short footstool.

“You are,” Jefferson said. “And you’ve no right to be.”

Gold lowered his book to his lap and openly scowled. “You are fortunate that you are not just my steward but also my only friend.”

Jefferson laughed and took the chair opposite Gold, arranging himself rather haphazardly, with one leg slung over the arm as he lounged across it. His action drew another look from Gold, as he’d designed it to do. He had decided that Cameron Gold needed to be needled a little given his petulant behavior yesterday.

“I’m not your only friend,” he said. “You have Belle too.”

Gold sighed. “I suppose.”

After he saw Belle and Jefferson together, he’d gone off to find Astrid, intent on finding out what had shocked her so that she’d hurried off without even looking where she was going. He found her in the kitchens a few minutes later, and she admitted everything to him. He had to admit he’d been surprised as well, and immediately stormed off to his room to think on the matter.

Belle had kissed Jefferson.

Of course to Astrid this was an event imbued with some great importance and intent, but once he’d had a chance to question the maid again, she gave him further information which dispelled all that. It had been a simple kiss on the cheek, one friend to another, and he was certain it was meant as nothing more than a moment of care and understanding. Yet it had bothered him nonetheless, and he had ruminated over it for the last day or so, eschewing last night’s supper and this morning’s breakfast with the rest of the household in favor of eating alone in his study. He knew he couldn’t avoid Belle forever, nor did he want to, but his immediate reaction to the incident unsettled him.

Belle and Jefferson becoming friends was hardly astonishing. They were both kind, outgoing people with mutual interests and dispositions. It was only natural they should gravitate towards each other. Yet Gold had felt the oddest pang at the thought of there being more between them. The notion that his wife, though their marriage was strictly a legal and financial arrangement, not anything romantic or familial, would favor another over him, that she might care for another, had left him disconcerted.

He thought that he and Belle had bonded while in Avonlea, and started to build a kind of partnership in the running of the estate in addition to their burgeoning friendship. While that was still a possibility, it seemed she was already far closer with Jefferson than he had understood, enough that she had confided in him regarding her relationship with Gaston. Perhaps it was that fact that disturbed him? A confession of something held so close that even her own father didn’t know the whole of it, belied an intimacy and trust that Gold only now realized he envied.

Jefferson huffed and sat up, putting his feet on the floor and facing Gold. “You’re an idiot.”

Gold was shaking from his thoughts and frowned. “Am I?” The other man’s look conveyed everything, and he closed the book and set it aside. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“It’s not her fault.”

“I - I never said it was, did I?” he asked, slipping his foot from the small ottoman and leaning forward. “And what are you talking about anyway?”

Jefferson shook his head. Things had clearly not improved with his mood since last night when they had discussed the particulars of what transpired between Belle and Gaston. “Belle," he replied. "Telling me about Gaston is not her fault, and it’s not some slight on you.”

“I never said it was!” Gold pulled a face and pushed to his feet, pacing across the rug. “She can tell whomever she likes whatever she likes. It is of no consequence to me.”

“Right.” Jefferson waited for Gold to reach the end of his short walk and turn around before fixing him with a look. “It’s clearly not bothering you at all, that’s why you’ve acted like a child and flounced off to your room for a whole day.”

“I did not _flounce,_” he snapped, clearly affronted.

Jefferson hummed and rolled his eyes to the side. “All I did was ask her, you know. Just asked her what happened. She wanted to talk about it.”

Gold looked away, his response muttered under his breath, but still loud enough for his friend to hear. “To you perhaps.”

“To you as well!” Jefferson stood and crossed the space, forcing Gold to look at him. “But you don’t ask. You never do.”

“Yes, well,” he said softly. “Not everyone is an open book like you.”

“Neither is Belle.” Jefferson reached for Gold, and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She lost her mother, nearly lost her home, and then this - this _incident_ with Gaston... “

Gold turned, shrugging off Jefferson’s touch, and faced him. “What would you have me do? She said she trusted me, and then she tells _you_ instead.”

He huffed and walked over to the window, sighing at the cool draft against his skin.

“You’re jealous.”

He scowled over his shoulder. “Hardly.”

Jefferson flashed his teeth. “Oh, you are, my friend. You _like_ her.”

“_Jefferson..._” he warned.

He felt a hand on his shoulder again as Jefferson leaned in close.

“She might like you too if you just tried a little harder.”

Gold scoffed and folded his arms, gazing out the window at the winter landscape that his gardens had become. When he exhaled, his breath created a circle of fog on the glass, that faded a moment later. “We both know I’m a difficult man to love.”

“Only because you make yourself so.” Gold huffed again, and Jefferson’s head cocked to the side. Then he suddenly leaned in and planted a firm, wet kiss on Gold’s cheek.

Gold exclaimed and raised his arm, pushing his friend back to peels of laughter, and then wiped his face roughly with his palm. He shot a glare at Jefferson and then shook his head. “Get out.”

Jefferson grinned, still chuckling to himself. “Only if you promise to talk to Belle.”

“Yes, yes,” he replied, waving the other man off.

He doubted very much that Belle could ever care for him in that way, even if he determined his own feelings were heading in that direction. But that was something he could not allow; it would only complicate matters and possibly derail some of his plans altogether. He wanted a friendship with Belle, nothing more, though he’d been prepared at the outset for her to reject any interaction with him beyond what was necessary for Baeden. Emotional entanglement had been an outside risk in marrying again, one he’d chosen to ignore because of the unlikeliness of such a situation ever occurring. 

Then he’d heard about the state Avonlea was in, and about Lady Belle’s abruptly broken engagement. He knew there had to be some kind of secret there, another risk he’d been willing to take for the sake of his son. Tomorrow, he would go down to breakfast and invite Belle to review Avonlea’s ledgers with him again, to get a sense of what she thought might be best. If she agreed, he would use the opportunity to broach the subject of Gaston with her, and perhaps it would set his mind to rights.

The door closed softly as Jefferson left the study, but Gold didn’t move from his spot by the window for some time.

* * *

Belle leaned her forehead against the cold glass, the frost at the corners prickling her skin, and sighed.

It was the first heavy snow of winter, with a wind that blew the fat, wet flakes at a sharp angle, illuminated by the light from the oil lamps that lined the edge of the walkways out into the garden, and sparkling. In the morning, one side of the trees would be frozen, coated in ice and bent in the direction of the storm, their branches dipping almost to the ground by the weight of the snow. 

Tomorrow was the Solstice, the longest, darkest day of the year. In the evening, the cities, towns, and villages all over the kingdom, and beyond, would celebrate with festivals beginning at sundown. She had loved the grand galas that her mother would throw at Avonlea, the smell of pine and spice wafting through the manor in the days leading up to the feast. Every noble from the surrounding area was invited, and there would be hours of dancing and drinking and eating. Many times she went to bed before it was even half over, the faint sounds of strings and laughter drifting into her dreams.

She wondered what it would be like here at Thornhill. There were few other nobility this far north, and only two small villages. Much of the land Gold owned was for farming and raising sheep rather than renting to wealthy merchants. She supposed it was one reason why it thrived even in the lean times, whereas other estates like Avonlea, that rented parcels to wealthy families to build their own, smaller estates, and only as much for farming as was needed, struggled to get by.

The celebration tomorrow, if there was one, would likely be a much smaller affair than she was used to, but she thought that this year it would suit her to keep things more subdued. The strife of the last few months had worn on her, and she didn’t feel very celebratory. Perhaps there could be some dancing though, if she could persuade Jefferson to play something. The thought made her smile.

Jefferson had become a dear friend to her in a short time. Telling him some of what happened with Gaston had made her feel immeasurably better, though what happened after seemed to leave them both uncomfortable. Astrid meant well, Belle was sure, but the woman could be so excitable, and often confused things when she was in that state. Whatever the maid had said to Gold upset him enough that he avoided both Jefferson and her for the rest of the evening. He even took breakfast in his room, which in turn upset Bae.

It had been a long day, but after nearly an hour of trying and failing to fall asleep, she’d climbed out of bed and brought her book to the window seat in her library. Nestled there with a thick afghan and wool socks, she couldn’t get cozy enough to rest, and besides that her mind seemed intent on being unsettled. It would probably remain so until she could sort out things with Gold.

She trusted him enough to tell him more of what occurred with Gaston, more than she’d told Jefferson, but she was uncertain of how he might take it. Jefferson believed that Gaston had tried to hurt her, and felt her actions were more than justified, but she knew not everyone would agree. She didn’t know which side Gold would choose, and worried that his more exacting nature might override his good will towards her.

Frustrated and chilled, Belle closed her book, and climbed down from the seat. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and let it trail behind her like a long cloak as she made her way downstairs to the main library room, hoping to find a warmer, cozier place to read until she felt tired enough to sleep.

The library doors were closed for the evening, but she eased one of the open and slipped quietly inside. Turning around, she stopped and held the afghan closer, pressing her book against her chest. Gold was sitting by the fire in one of the large leather chairs, a book folded open on his knee as he stared into the fire.

She shuffled forward, but when he didn’t move or acknowledge her presence she let out a small cough. He startled at that and twisted in the chair. The fire and two candelabras were the only light in the room, but she could see his eyes were dark and wide with surprise.

“Belle,” he said softly.

A shiver went down her spine, and she held the blanket tight to her body.

“What are you doing up at this hour?” he managed, trying not to consider the fact that she was in her nightgown and stockings, covered in nothing but a knit blanket.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “You?”

He shrugged. “The same, but that’s nothing new.” Then he gestured to the other chair, and she spied a small glass in his hand, a dark liquid swirling about and catching the shine of the fire. “Would you care to join me for a late night drink, and a stare into the fire until we uncover the secrets of life?”

His tone was playful and soft, and she laughed lightly. “Yes, thank you.”

She set her book on the small table between them, and eased herself into the seat, adjusting the afghan so it was folded over her lap and wrapped around to keep her arms covered. To do so she had to expose the front part of her nightgown where it laced up over her chest, but she was near enough to the fire that she didn’t feel a chill.

Gold rose and crossed to a small cart set to one side of the fireplace and poured her a glass of brandy from a crystal decanter. She watched as he moved, taking in his unusual appearance. He was wearing one of his ivory shirts, but without a waistcoat or ascot, and wearing a comfortable pair of slippers instead of his usual high laced boots. She had never seen him in so few layers of clothing. It made the moment feel more intimate than it should.

When he turned around, drink in hand, she noticed that not only had he gone without his usual neckwear, but he’d also undone the top of his shirt, letting the laces hang down the front. It was only just untied, and there was little beyond a sliver of skin showing, but she caught herself staring all the same.

Gold met her gaze as he bent to hand her the glass. His eyes looked so warm, the glow of the fire reflecting in them, and she held back another shiver as she took the drink from him. He moved to sit, and she hastily took a sip of the brandy, humming as the heat trailed down her throat.

“Good?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and lowered the glass to her lap. “Perfect.”

He flashed her a small smile, and sat back against the chair, sipping from his own drink. A few minutes ago, he’d nearly gathered himself up and forced himself to go to bed, but now he was content to stay as long as Belle in the hopes that he might have a chance to gage her thoughts on yesterday’s misunderstanding.

She was wearing a pale blue nightgown with long sleeves that laced up the front. It was a struggle to keep his eyes from taking her in, but he focused them on the dancing flames in the hearth. He had seen her in a similar state barely a week and two days ago in Avonlea, after he’d hauled her in from the snow. When he returned to her room she was fresh out of her bath, her skin pink from the heat of the water, which looked far better on her than the sickly pale from being wet through and nearly frozen.

It was the first time he’d allowed himself to acknowledge her beauty, though he’d been struck by it the moment he first saw her, standing under the arbor in the garden before she came down the aisle to marry him. Such a moment it had been. He felt as though he’d gaped at her the whole way, and considered it a miracle that he managed not to blunder any of his lines. But seeing her like this, in the late hours of the evening, padding around his house in her warmest stockings, with an afghan he’d knitted himself so many years ago - it pulled at something in him. He tried to push the feeling down, but it wouldn’t relent, warming him from the inside better than the brandy.

“So,” Belle said after a time. “Have you discerned anything yet?”

Gold’s lips curved slightly as he lifted his glass. “Nothing. You?”

She sighed. “The same, I’m afraid. Perhaps the universe does not wish to reveal its wonders to us just yet.”

He let out a sound of agreement and swallowed the drink in his mouth.

“I want you to know,” she said, “that what happened with Jefferson was not what it seemed.”

He frowned. “I didn’t think it seemed like anything.”

She looked at him sideways, and sipped carefully at her drink. “You haven’t been avoiding me because of it?”

“No,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. He’d been avoiding her because of himself, though how to say that properly was lost on him. “It - it wasn’t anything you did. You have every right to whatever affection you may have for Jefferson.”

“It’s not like that,” she said. “He’s a good friend, that is all.”

Gold waved a hand and set his glass on the table. “No matter. You should feel free to do as you wish. It isn’t as if I have any sort of claim on you.”

Belle’s mouth opened and then closed as she idly turned the drink in her hand. What he said wasn’t entirely true. She did have an affection for Jefferson, but it was as nothing more than a good friend. She was sure it was the same for Jefferson as well, but she had come to realize that there was now a place in her heart for Bae as well as Gold.

“Did Jefferson tell you -?”

“What you told him?” he asked, shifting in his chair to look at her more directly. “Yes, he did.”

She nodded and looked down at the last little puddle of brandy in her glass. Jefferson had sworn himself to the strictest secrecy, but she assured him that there was no need for that with Gold. She wanted him to know as well. “Good.”

“I’ll remember never to anger you,” he added, smiling. “Wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of things.”

When she looked over at him, he winked at her, and she let out a soft, snorting laugh. The brandy had loosened her tongue and his, and they shared a grin and a chuckle at Gaston’s expense. She felt lighter again, the same as after she had confessed to Jefferson, and now she knew that Cameron did not hold anything against her.

She tossed back the last of her drink and set the glass aside, surprised and how her mind had suddenly shifted from thinking of him as Gold to thinking of him more familiarly. It was as if the distance he had put between them had meant a loss of the friendly intimacy they had established. Now that things seemed resolved, she had shifted easily to reclaim it and in doing also found her comfort again. Her body felt more relaxed and warm, and she felt that perhaps now she might be able to sleep, but there was something about this moment that she was loathe to end.

“I’m sure you won’t be,” she said finally.

He scoffed quietly and leaned his head back. “Oh, I wouldn't count on it. I can be - difficult.”

“You don’t say,” she replied flatly.

Immediately Gold twisted in his seat to stare at her open mouthed and wide eyed. She pressed her lips together even as her mouth started to curve, and after a few seconds, they both laughed.

Belle knew she was definitely tired enough to rest, and slowly pushed to her feet. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He looked up at her, and once again she caught the flash of the fire in his dark eyes, and felt an odd tightness in her throat. “For - for the drink,” she answered, reaching for his hand where it rested on the arm of the chair. “And - and for other things.”

She wrapped her hand over his and held it at her side, his knuckles brushing against the soft yarn of the blanket where it hung loose around her legs. He gave her a light squeeze and brushed his thumb over the bump on the outside of her wrist.

“Are you -” He started and then stopped, clearing his throat roughly and swallowing against the lump that had formed there. “Are you happy here, Belle?”

He met her eyes, and for a brief second, he thought he might have almost unlocked one of the secrets they had joked about before, as though the universe might lay itself bare in her gaze if only he was brave enough to look at it. Shaking his head, he looked away and made to pull his hand back, but she gripped it harder, tugging to make him look at her again.

“I’m not - _un_happy,” she said, smiling. “And you?”

“The same.” Then he shook his head again and pulled her hand to him, pressing a kiss to the back of it as had become his habit. “Good night, Belle.”

On a whim, she bent down, catching herself with her free hand on the arm of his chair and kissed his cheek. Her body angled over his, nightgown brushing his clothes, and her lips touched just to the right of his mouth, lingering a moment before she straightened. “Good night, Cameron.”

It was another hour before Gold went to bed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebration is about to happen, and Belle’s day has many surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my August Writer’s Month prompt #5: Come with me. This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but plumbing issues had other ideas. Sorry for posting late, this has been done since last night, but life is being a jerk right now.
> 
> [This is Belle's dress,](https://timelordthirteen.tumblr.com/post/188192592092/fashion-runways-nz-bridal-dusty-blue-dress-if) for those are interested.

Belle slept later than usual the next morning, and awoke to such sounds as she had never heard in her time at Thornhill. 

There was a buzz and bustle to the entire house as if the walls themselves were vibrating with energy. She could hear staff passing up and down the main hallway and stairs, a step thumping of shoes and boots, and when she peeked outside, there were men with shovels clearing off the patio space and setting up braziers. Confused, she rang for Astrid and hurried to her washroom, finishing her morning wash in record time.

Astrid came in, hair already falling loose from her cap, with a breakfast tray. “Morning, m’lady.”

“What’s all this?” Belle asked, undoing the braid she usually slept in. “I was going to eat downstairs with everyone else.”

“Oh, they finished over an hour ago,” Astrid said, placing the tray on the table at the other end of the room. “Everyone was up early this morning.”

“I see.” Belle sat down, still combing her fingers through her hair, while her maid poured the tea.

“Will you be wanting lunch here as well, m’lady, or maybe in your book room?” Astrid asked, setting the tea aside and taking a plate of winter berries and apples off the tray. “I think Lord Gold will be eating in the library downstairs, if you’d prefer that.”

Belle huffed. “I would prefer to know what is going on, I feel like I’ve missed out something.”

“Oh!” Astrid’s eyes went wide and she clapped her hands together. “It’s the Solstice, did you forget? There’s a party tonight, and everyone's invited!”

She blinked. “Everyone?”

“Yes! As I understand from Ms. Potts, a few people from Lamton - 

“Lamton?” Belle interrupted.

“A small village just over the hill to the east,” she explained. “It’s where most of the supplies come from. And then there will be a friend of Lord Gold’s who comes every year, and all the staff.”

“The staff?”

“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Potts said the Master always insists on the servants celebrating too. That’s why everyone started early, so they can be done in time for the feast. She says they set everything out on two big tables, and everyone eats and drinks whatever they like, all night long.”

Astrid’s enthusiasm seemed to increase with each word, until it bubbled over and she broke into a large grin and spun around, flaring out the wool skirt of her work dress. “Doesn’t that sound just delightful?”

Belle smiled and laughed, feeling her own excitement growing. “Yes, it sounds wonderful!”

After breakfast, she put on her blue dress, an old favorite, and headed downstairs. She wanted to be involved with the preparations in whatever way was required or needed, but after speaking with Ms. Potts and Jefferson, she found there was nothing for her to do. Everything had already been seen to, all the plans made while they were in Avonlea, and she needed only to wait for the festivities to commence. Even Cameron was busy at present, finishing up some papers so he could be free the rest of the day.

She’d never not been involved in planning an event such as this, handling everything from the writing up the order for the food, to sending the invitations. Everything being done without her, and no one needing her made her feel out of sorts, and she retreated to her book room. Tucked into the window seat overlooking the garden, she moped by herself, and wondered if she’d brought anything suitable to wear. It didn’t sound as if it would be quite the grand gala they would have in Avonlea, or at the palace, but she felt she should look her best as the Lady of the estate.

That Gold was inviting some unknown friend was intriguing as well. He hadn’t spoken of anyone in particular, but it seemed silly that he would only have Jefferson and herself to count as friends. Maybe this was someone who was less a friend and more an acquaintance, or perhaps a party he was seeking to do business with and so extended an invitation. Her father had done so numerous times, usually with positive results, though not so often in recent years.

She liked being useful, having something to do each day, and it was hard to get used to things being done for her in her new home. Avonlea would be turned over to her soon, she reminded herself, and she supposed then she would have many more things to do. Maybe even too many. But for now, all she had was her book to read, while the rest of the house ran to and fro.

She wished that Cameron had informed her of the plans for the Solstice, or that she had thought to ask. Last night, when she had already been considering it, would have been the perfect time to bring it up, but there had been more pressing things to discuss. She felt an odd warmth wash over her at the memory of her conversation with her husband. The whole setting had felt intimate and cozy, and it reaffirmed her conviction to trust in him.

Telling Jefferson first hadn’t been a bad idea exactly, but it hadn’t been how she wanted things to go. Once things settled down, and the business with Avonlea was taken care of, she vowed she would sit down with Cameron and tell him the whole story, the embarrassing and personal bits included. He deserved the whole truth, as best as she could tell it, so that he understood what a favor he had done for her in arranging their marriage. 

Kissing Cameron, however, had been a strange impulse. In the moment it was the only thing that felt right, that conveyed what she wanted to say with the simplest act. When she’d touched her lips to Jefferson’s cheek, it had been brief and meant entirely as friendly affection. Though she had done the same to Cameron, and meant it in the same way, it had made her flush and jittery the whole way back to her room. His face was warm from the fire, and dotted with the faintest hint of whiskers that pricked her lips and made them tingle. She wondered at his reaction, how his eyes had softened in a way she’d never seen before. He had been entirely open to her in that instant, trusting and accepting; she could have asked for anything, and he would have agreed. It was such a strange sensation, and she didn’t know how to consider it properly.

A hard thump sounded from the corridor, shaking Belle from her thoughts. She climbed down from the niche, but before she made halfway across the room, the doors opened to either side and Astrid came in. Behind her, two men stood in the hallway to either side of a large trunk.

“My Lady,” Astrid exclaimed, “you must come with me!”

“Why, Astrid, what is the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter, but you need to select a dress for tonight.”

Belle blinked in confusion at her maid for at least the third time that day. “I - I was think I’d wear the green with the lace, but -”

“Oh, no m’lady, not one of your old ones,” she admonished, smiling. “One of the new ones!”

“New?”

Astrid came forward and took Belle’s hand, the excitement of the day overwhelming her usual sensitivities regarding her station, and pulled Belle towards the hall.

“A whole trunk full of new things!” she said. “They arrived this morning, just in time.”

“But -” Belle started to say, allowing herself to be led out into the hall and across to her bedroom. “But I haven’t seen a tailor for anything new. We haven’t - I had not -”

The men picked up the trunk by its handles on either end and hefted it behind them, setting it down where Astrid indicated and then dismissing themselves from the room.

“Astrid, what is going on? This whole place is crazy today!”

Astrid beamed at her, unaware she was still holding on to Belle’s hand. “I know! Isn’t it marvelous!”

Belle let out a short laugh and shook her head. “It might be a little better if I stopped feeling like I was having a strange dream.”

Astrid giggled and moved to the trunk, kneeling down to heave it open with what looked like all her strength. It was indeed large, and strapped with thick metal across the top and sides, as though it needed to withstand traveling a great distance. Belle walked up behind her, peering inside, and gasped when the first item was pulled out. Cameron had promised her that she would have some new clothes after she came to Thornhill, that she should have new things in her new home. This must be him following through.

Astrid stood with the dress in hand and turned around. “What do you think?”

The gown was a light blue, a near perfect match for the flowering bushes that lined the carriageway up to Avonlea. The front was covered with intricate ivory lace and bead work that wound its way up the shoulders and over the little cap sleeves. The neckline was very high, going all the way up where it would wrap around the base of her throat with a small collar, but the back was open, exposing several inches of her shoulder blades. Below that the bodice was laced up with a stiff ribbon in a matching color, and was both a way to secure the dress as it was visually appealing. 

Belle was speechless.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Astrid asked as she turned the dress and held it up to Belle. “You should try all of them on to decide, don’t you agree?”

She nodded and grinned, taking hold of the dress and pressing it to her front as she met Astrid’s eyes. Astrid wasted no time in shuffling everything into the attached dressing room, and taking all of the dresses out of the trunk to lay over any available chair or surface. There were six in all, including the light blue, in a variety of colors and fabrics. All of them were pleasing to her, though she reserved some of her judgement until she saw them on her body.

Astrid insisted on trying the light blue dress first, commenting that it would match Belle’s eyes as she worked the lacing at the back. The outer layer of the dress was light and sheer, while the one beneath was a shimmery satin, and the skirt looked like it could easily accommodate a petticoat if she chose to wear one. If she didn’t it would still be wide enough for her to walk comfortably. 

The silky material slid over her underclothes and down her legs, making her shiver with its feather light touch. The gown fit perfectly, and she marveled aloud at how Cameron would have known what dimensions to give its maker.

Astrid smiled up at her knowingly. “Lord Gold asked me to give him one of your dresses that I thought fit you well, and he took all the measurements himself to send to the tailor. I think they must have used them as a template to make all of these.”

She stared wide eyed at her image in the mirror. The gown was some of the finest tailoring, the likes of which she would expect to see at the royal palace, and nothing like she’d ever worn, even before Avonlea’s financial woes. She looked and felt almost regal wearing it, and worried that it might be too formal and too ornate for this evening’s celebration.

“It’s - it’s beautiful,” Astrid muttered. Then she straightened and stood next to Belle, looking at the reflection in the mirror. “You’re so beautiful, m’lady.”

Belle blushed furiously. “Thank you, Astrid.”

“Ready to try the others?” Astrid asked, smiling and biting her lip.

She nodded readily, and pointed to an empire waist dress in a deep, forest green. “That one next.”

It took them two hours to try all of the gowns, and pair them with various hair clips and jewelry. Ultimately, Belle settled on the first one, the light blue that made her feel so special from the moment she put it on, with a gold and pearl set of combs to pull her hair back from her face, showing off the pair of small teardrop pearl earrings that had belonged to her mother. The simplicity of her accessories wouldn’t detract from the dress, but complement the delicate beading.

She stood in front of the mirror while Astrid put up the new dresses to hang in the wardrobe, turning from one side to the other and admiring the way the skirt moved. The bodice was laced tight, but it didn’t squeeze or restrict her breathing. She thought she would be very comfortable all evening, and hoped even more than there might be some dancing so she would have a reason to twirl about in her new gown. Idly, she wondered if Cameron would like how she looked in her new clothes, and if this is the dress he would have chosen for her to wear tonight.

“M’lady?” came Astrid’s voice from behind.

The maid looked worried and almost sheepish, like Bae when she caught him doing sneaking extra sweet breads or tea cakes.

“Yes?” Belle shuffled around on the dressing pedestal in her stocking feet. “What is it, Astrid?”

“I wanted - I mean - I - I’m sorry.”

Belle frowned and held out her hands, beckoning Astrid closer. “Whatever for?”

“For interrupting you and Mr. Jefferson the other day. I didn’t mean to barge in like that, I - I thought you’d be alone.”

“Astrid,” Belle said softly, taking Astrids hands in hers. “There is no reason to be sorry. You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“But - but you, um, you kissed him.”

She laughed lightly. “On the cheek, as friends, that’s all.”

“Oh…”

“He’s been nice to me, and he’s a good listener.”

“Yes,” Astrid agreed. “He’s a very nice man. So is Lord Gold, I think.”

Belle nodded. “Yes, Cameron is - is very sweet as well.”

“Forgive me, but -” Astrid’s mouth twisted and she squeezed Belle’s hands. “I - I don’t mean to pry, but you don’t - I mean you and Lord Gold don’t - don’t um -”

“Don’t share a bed?” Belle finished for her, immediately flushing with embarrassment.

“Yes, ma’am,” Astrid replied, looking down at the floor. “I know I shouldn’t ask. I”m sorry.”

Of course Astrid would notice. Not once had Belle asked for any of her things to be taken to her husband’s bedroom, or vise versa, and they had never been together when Astrid came in the mornings. She should have known Astrid would expect such a thing, and she hadn’t thought to explain to her that things might be different.

“Don’t be sorry.” She lifted their hands, urging Astrid to look at her. “I should have told you sooner. It’s - it’s not that kind of marriage.” At the maid’s frown, Belle bit her lip. “We’re, um, we’re friends, and - and partners, but we don’t - we won’t - share a bed. Do you understand?”

“I think so, but - I don’t suppose it matters as long as you’re happy.” Astrid smiled at her. “Are you happy, Belle?”

Belle smiled in return, her eyes tearing at the corners. What she had said to Cameron last night was only a half truth. She wasn’t _unhappy,_ far from it. In fact, she felt she was quite the opposite.

“Yes,” she said softly, her throat tightening. “I am very happy.”


End file.
